


Stolen Moments

by jemgirl



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bucky’s No Saint Either, Everybody is Kinda Messy, Everyone Loves Sam Wilson, Gaslighting, Love Triangles, M/M, Steve is a Lying Liar, They Are Out of Pocket, this is basically a soap opera
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 90,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26051167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemgirl/pseuds/jemgirl
Summary: “No,” Sam said, chuckling. “I don’t cheat,” he swept his gaze up and down James’ body, “even with guys who look like you. But, I’m bored and a little pissed, so if you wanna sit here and shoot the shit ‘til my man shows back up, I’m game.”Never one to back to back down from a challenge - especially a challenge who looked like Sam Wilson - Bucky took another swig from his bottle and replied, “Sure, doll. I’ve got nothing but time.”Steve has Sam. Bucky wants Sam. Sam wasn’t expecting any of this.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, past Riley/Sam Wilson - Relationship
Comments: 612
Kudos: 327





	1. I’m So Into You

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback and comments appreciated! Please enjoy :)

“Well, this doesn’t look like the movie theater,” Sam commented mildly, as they pulled up in front of the dive bar Steve owned.

“Yeah,” Steve began, putting the car in park. “One of the guys called with a problem right before I picked you up. Nothing major,” he assured Sam, lying through his teeth. “But I have to run inside for a few minutes.”

“Hmmm,” Sam murmured, thoughtfully. “And here I thought I wasn’t allowed at Sarah’s Place. I mean, we’ve been dating almost a year, but you’ve never brought me within five feet of the place.”

He felt pretty generous for not bringing up the fact that he’d spent most of that year thinking that Steve was an employee and not the owner, or the flimsy excuses Steve had used to keep him away from the place before he knew the truth. 

Steve couldn’t help but grimace at Sam’s tone before responding. “Hey, you’re the one who said you didn’t want to be anywhere near,” he paused, gesturing vaguely, “the business. ‘Do what you gotta do, man, just keep me out of it,’ isn’t that what you said?”

“Yup. And I meant it. So,” he turned, finally looking Steve in the eyes, “why would you bring me here?”

Steve closed his eyes briefly and sighed, appearing pained.

“Sam—

“Steve,” he interrupted. “When you dropped this all on me a few months ago, I think I was pretty cool about it all things considered. I mean, I’m a square and I know it, but like I told you then: I can deal with what you do, as long as you keep it away from me and don’t lie anymore.”

“This place, the auto shop - they’re legit,” Steve said, voice earnest, despite the blatant lie tumbling out of his mouth. “The only reason I never brought you here is because you wanted to be far away from the bullshit. And while I’m not doing anything here, this place does attract a certain… element, and I can’t exactly control or know what my patrons may be getting up to.” He reached over and grabbed Sam’s hand. “But, believe me, I’d never involve you in what I do. I wouldn’t risk you, I wouldn’t risk what we have. Don’t you know that, Sammy?” He asked softly.

Sam was silent for a moment, his gaze searching. And, not for the first time, Steve thanked God that he was blessed with an apple pie face and a smile that wouldn’t melt butter.

“Yeah,” Sam replied, after a moment. “Okay, Let’s go in, but I’m taking my book and I’m timing you,” he said, jokingly, customary grin back in place. “If we end up missing the coming attractions, I’m gonna be pissed, Rogers.”

Steve leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “It won’t take more than ten minutes at the most, baby. I swear.”

****

If someone had asked Bucky even five minutes earlier whether he had a type, he would’ve laughed in their face. And yet, there he was, leaning against the bar counter, staring at what had to be the most attractive man he’d ever seen in his life. Flawless brown skin, almond shaped eyes, muscular arms and thick legs that looked ready to burst through the seams of the clothes he was wearing, and a face so handsome he could’ve been a movie star - yeah, Bucky decided right then and there that he definitely had a type.

“So, uhhh who’s the librarian?” Bucky asked, as casually as he could muster once Natasha came to rest next to him after serving a group of guys at the end of the bar. 

Judging by the look she gave him, he wasn’t casual enough.

“Come on, Nat. The guy with the book,” he said, tilting his head in Sam’s direction. “Who is he?”

“How should I know?”

Bucky snorted. “Please, you know everyone and everything that goes on around here.”

He was joking, but only a little. Natasha may have moonlighted as a bartender at Sarah’s Place, but only because it gave her a convenient way to blend in and keep an eye on everyone while hearing her fair share of gossip from all of their shady patrons.

“Sorry.” She shrugged, sliding her gaze over the guy once again. “I’ve never seen him in here before. I would’ve definitely noticed a guy who looks that good.”

She pushed a couple of bottles of beer towards him. “If you’re so curious about who he is, take him a drink and go find out.”

“I don’t know.” He hesitated. “What if—

“James Barnes,” she interrupted, lifting one perfectly arched eyebrow in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you lost your nerve while you were away. The man I’ve known since elementary school wouldn’t be scared to go talk to some random guy.”

He recognized the dare for what it was, but that didn’t stop him from taking the beers and heading towards the man, even if he did send Natasha a glare over his shoulder on the way.

****

Sam heard the chair across from him scrape the floor as it was pulled out and an unfamiliar voice said, “You look like you could use a drink.”

He looked up ready to say something biting about how what he couldn’t use were come ons from random strangers. Because after waiting over thirty minutes for Steve who had disappeared about five minutes after they entered the place, and realizing that they were definitely going to miss the movie, Sam really wasn’t in the mood to talk to anybody about anything. 

However, even though he’d probably never admit it aloud, when he caught sight of the man’s face, he was so disarmed by the sheer handsomeness of it that his brain betrayed him and he gave a honest response.

“Man, you have no idea.”

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but that was all the invitation he needed to sit down and slide a beer in Sam’s direction.

“James Barnes,” he said, figuring that it was probably smarter to give his government name than the name that everybody knew him by. There were over one hundred James Barnes’ in the city, but only one Bucky who was fresh out.

“Sam Wilson,” he responded, lifting his beer in greeting.

“So,” James began, after taking a quick sip of beer. “What brings you to this particular hole in the wall? I mean, and don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t really seem like the typical clientele.”

Sam glanced around the room, taking in the other patrons who seemed to range from local drunks to run of the mill purse snatcher to people who looked like they could be connected. He didn’t want to assume or prejudge anybody, but it wasn’t an exaggeration to say almost everyone in the place looked sketchy as hell.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “You might be right about that. I’m only here cause I came with somebody - my boyfriend actually,” he clarified, before James could get any ideas. “He dropped me off at the table then left to take care of some business.” Sam rolled his eyes. “And if he doesn’t come back soon, I’ll be leaving by myself,” he added under his breath. 

“That’s too bad. You know,” he paused and bit his lip thoughtfully, before looking up at Sam through his eyelashes. “If you were mine, I’d never leave you alone.”

Sam couldn’t help it - he stared at James for a minute before bursting into laughter. 

“Seriously?”

“Hey,” he shrugged, laughing a little himself. “You’d be surprised how often that sorta thing works.”

Sam gave him a speculative look and snorted. “Uh no, I really wouldn’t be.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Sam could have slapped himself. See, this had always been his problem: he was an unrepentant flirt. Flirting just came second nature to him - it was his standby in casual conversations. But while most of the people in his day to day life knew to take what he said with a grain of salt, it probably wasn’t the best idea to flirt with some stranger in a bar who had basically already hit on him once.

“So…” James said slowly, while giving a silent thanks that he’d been blessed with what he knew were above average good looks. “Does that mean it worked with you?” 

“No,” Sam said, chuckling. “I don’t cheat,” he swept his gaze up and down James’ body, “even with guys who look like you. But, I’m bored and a little pissed, so if you wanna sit here and shoot the shit ‘til my man shows back up, I’m game.”

Never one to back to back down from a challenge - especially a challenge who looked like Sam Wilson - Bucky took another swig from his bottle and replied, “Sure, doll. I’ve got nothing but time.”

****

Two more beers and a couple of shots of Remy later, and Steve still hadn’t shown up and Sam was still talking to James. But the guy was so charming and fun that Sam barely even registered the passing of time. With the way James’ eyes crinkled with mirth as he went back and forth between flirting outrageously and telling Sam wild stories that he refused to believe were entirely true, it was hard to focus on anything except the engaging man sitting across from him.

“So I’m sitting at the stop sign saying one Hail Mary after another - praying that this car that I literally got in a trade and is probably worth all of five bucks makes it home without cutting off. I look both ways, cautious as hell, cause I don’t have insurance. Hell, I don’t even have a license yet - I shouldn’t be driving anything.”

“Soon as I hit the gas, it cuts off. So now, I’m pissed. I got my buddy Scott in the seat next to me laughing his head off like the whole thing is hilarious, got my other two friends right behind me blowing their horn and I can see those assholes in my rear view mirror laughing too, even though the whole reason they were following us in the first place was in case the car cut off.” 

James paused for a breath and downed another shot without skipping a beat and Sam had to admit he was mildly impressed - James didn’t seem near as tipsy as he felt.

“Anyway, I put it in neutral and I try to start it like five times but it will not turnover, so on the sixth time it finally starts and without even thinking about it, I put it in drive and take off, scared that if I keep sitting there it’ll die again. I didn’t make sure the intersection was clear that time though, so, of course, I’m not even halfway into it when boom - a tiny Sunfire crashes right into me.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, shit,” he said, nodding in agreement. “This lady hops out, she couldn’t be more than 25 looking back on it, but I’m 15 with no license and no nothing, so I’m freaking out. She's yelling and crying, then this old man pulls up - some good samaritan I guess - and he’s trying to talk to her, get her calm. Me, at this point I’m just sitting on this back road, frozen stiff and scared as hell, cause I know it’s my fault. Then, Scott sorta slaps me on the shoulder and yells ‘why are you sitting here? Drive!’”

“So what did you do?”

James snorted. “What do you think? I drove,” he answered, and they both laughed. “But my car was seriously fucked up, it’s shaking and rattling, probably leaking all kinds of fluids, so I’m only hitting like thirty miles per hour. Then I hear a horn honking and I’m thinking it’s my dumb ass friends, but it’s the samaritan he’s following me, waving his arm out the window trying to get me to stop.”

“Did you?”

“Nope. Scott’s steady telling me to speed up, like him yelling is gonna make the car magically go faster, so I just keep going. Me and the old man are having the lamest car chase in history.” He laughed. “I’m starting to think I’m never gonna get away, then out of the side mirror I see my friend’s car on the other side of the double yellow line driving like a bat out of hell. Then she pulls right in front of the samaritan and slows down to basically a crawl. She’s buying us some time, and I can hear what must’ve been the old man blowing at her. And my car is still shaking, so…”

“So…”

“So, Scott and I look at each other. I say ‘fuck it,’ put the car in park, and we both hop out and go running in different directions.”

“Yeah right,” Sam said, doubtfully. 

“Swear to God, Wilson. We were gone. Remember: this was back in the day when everybody didn’t have a cell phone and couldn’t record everything, and that car wasn’t registered to me, so I weighed my options and left it sitting in the middle of the road.”

“And what - just walked home like nothing happened?”

“Walk home?” he repeated incredulously, while pouring them each another shot. “We were in the fuckin sticks. Scott ended up hitching a ride, and I walked around until I found a gas station, and used their pay phone to page the friends who had been trailing me. Then hung around the booth til she called me back, and gave her directions to come get me.”

Sam shook his head. “You and your friends all sound nuts,” he said, before downing his shot. “Though I must admit, I’m jealous that you had pagers. Man, I would’ve killed for one in high school.”

“You didn’t have a pager?” he asked, surprised. “They were so cheap; everybody had a pager. Hell, my baby sister had a pager,” he said with a laugh.

“Yeah, well, according to my father ‘only doctors and drug dealers needed pagers,’” he replied, doing a spot on impression of his dad. “And since I was neither, I wasn’t allowed to have one.”

“Are you for real?” 

Sam nodded.

“And, what, you always did everything your father told you?”

“Pretty much,” Sam said, shrugging. “I mean, I got in trouble sometimes like any kid, but nothing like what you apparently got up to.”

“Pfftt,” he scoffed. “I bet you were a boy scout.”

Sam arched an eyebrow. “Oh, really?” 

“Hmmm,” he murmured, leaning forward and giving Sam the once over. “You were into sports, I bet. Baseball - wait, no, football?” He guessed. “Probably made the honor roll and spent your free time doing all sorts of extra curricular stuff and volunteering.”

Sam blinked, a little taken aback at just how accurate James was.

“You’re mostly right,” Sam confirmed, somewhat begrudgingly. “I lettered in football—

“You’ve certainly got the body for it,” James interrupted, giving him a wink.

Sam rolled his eyes and kept talking as if the other man hadn’t spoken.

“And with a dad who is a pastor and a mother who’s a teacher, volunteer work and good grades were pretty much expected. I always enjoyed helping other people and school was fun, so it wasn’t exactly a big deal. Never was a boy scout though,” he finished with a smile.

“Not a real life preacher’s kid.” He snickered. “Man, I would’ve loved the chance to corrupt you in high school. I can only imagine what your preacher daddy would’ve said if you brought someone like me home.”

Sam’s gaze flickered over his black leather jacket that was covering an almost comically tight black t-shirt which sat untucked over equally black jeans. The whole look was finished off with what Sam could only describe as combat boots.

“Well, he might’ve wanted to take you shopping,” he teased. “But as long as you treated me decently, he wouldn’t have had anything to say.”

Paul Wilson may’ve been a preacher, but he wasn’t the sanctimonious kind. Sam’s father felt a true calling and became a pastor to help spread the word of God and help the members of his community - not judge them.

“Come home with me tonight, and I’ll treat you way better than decent.”

Sam laughed, but James hadn’t exactly been joking.

“Man, do you ever give up?” He asked, but his phone buzzed before James could respond.

“Is it the infamous boyfriend?” He asked, trying not to sound annoyed at having their conversation interrupted, even though he kind of was.

“Naw, just a text from my sister.” He started to open it when he noticed the time displayed in the corner of the screen. “Jeez,” he exclaimed, shocked. “Can you believe we’ve been talking for over an hour?” He paused. “Can you believe I’ve been waiting on this dude for over an hour?” The second question seemed to be more for himself than James. 

“Fuck this,” Sam mumbled under his breath, looking more irritated by the second. “I’m getting an Uber.”

“Don’t leave,” James said, slightly panicking as he watched Sam pull the app up on his phone and start typing. “Forget him. Stay and have another drink with me.”

“No, I better not.” Sam was still looking down at his phone, ordering the Uber. “I have anymore to drink tonight and I just might cuss his ass out whenever he finally shows up. I’m just gonna get a ride.”

“I’d be more than happy to give you a ride,” James offered, and there was so much innuendo in his voice that Sam had to look up at his face. 

Just as he expected, James was openly leering at him, but Sam just shook his head. 

“No thanks, man,” he replied briskly, as he pocketed his phone, having completed his order. “Not really the kind of ride I was looking for.”

“But it could be just the kinda ride you need,” he pressed on shamelessly.

“We’ve been having a good time, don’t get creepy now,” Sam said, but James could see from the tiny smile on his face that he was amused.

“My bad,” he responded sheepishly. When he spoke again his voice had lost its seductive quality and returned to normal. “I really can take you home though if you want. It’s no problem.”

“Naw it's cool. My uber’s already on its way,” Sam said, as he stood up. And if he sounded a little disappointed to his own ears he could only hope that James didn’t notice.

“My disappearing boyfriend aside, I had fun tonight. I’m glad we met, James,” Sam said, sticking out a hand.

“Me too,” he replied, standing and grasping Sam’s hand firmly.

Sam’s hand was soft and warm, just like the man himself, and the second they touched James would’ve sworn on a stack of bibles that he’d felt a bolt of electricity that sent his heart into overdrive. He knew it was crazy, but for one wild moment James seriously contemplated never letting go. Cause if it felt this good having Sam’s hand in his, he couldn’t imagine how incredible it would be to have those hands on other parts of his body. He knew that he had to try one more time - he couldn’t stand the thought of that being their one and only time together.

“Sam,” he said, tugging the man forward slightly. “Please let me take you home. We don’t have to do anything,” he continued quickly. “I just don’t want tonight to end, at least not yet.”

Sam was quickly coming to the conclusion that he was drunker than he’d thought. James’ gaze was feeling damn near hypnotic and Sam could feel himself swaying into the man’s space almost against his will. 

“I...” he started, finally willing himself to speak.

James brought his hand that wasn’t holding Sam’s up and placed it upon his waist, giving him a gentle squeeze. It was meant to be encouraging, but it had the opposite effect because Sam abruptly pulled his hand away and took a step back.

“I gotta go, James,” he said a little forcefully, but even though he spoke the other man’s name it almost seemed as if he was addressing himself. “Bye,” he whispered, and then practically sprinted out the bar without another glance.

“I’ll be seeing you, Sam,” Bucky called after him, and it sounded more like a promise than anything else.

“Bucky,” Natasha began, seemingly having materialized at his side out of nowhere. 

“I swear to God, Tasha,” he said, looking at her with a grin. “Boyfriend or not, that man’s gonna be mine one day.”

“Bucky,” she tried again, only to be interrupted for a second time.

“I didn’t get his number, but I know his name. And Lord knows we’ve found a whole lot of people with way less information to go on.”

“James!” She snapped, and this time Bucky's grin dropped and he paid attention.

“I was just talking to Steve, and I…” She paused and took a deep breath. “I know who he is.” Natasha looked downright miserable as she went on. “More importantly, I know who he belongs to.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters are all named after ‘80s/‘90s R&B and Hip Hop songs
> 
> This one is from SWV


	2. No More Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve lets Bucky in on a few things, and Sam gets a bit of a shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos! Your feedback is always appreciated 😊

“Hey, Bucky,” Steve greeted, as he walked into the office at his auto shop. “Heard you spoke to Sam the other night at Sarah’s Place.”

Bucky damn near choked on his drink and gave a silent thanks that Steve couldn’t see his face, before turning around.

“Hey,” Bucky greeted him. “Yeah, he was sitting there looking all out of place, so I went over and talked to him for a few,” he lied smoothly, shrugging. “Seems like a cool guy.”

“Man, Buck, cool ain’t even the word.” He walked over to the sideboard and poured himself a couple of fingers of whiskey. “This guy is perfect: classy, smart, and a literal hero to boot.” 

Bucky laughed. “Where’d you find such a saint?” He was trying to sound like he was joking, but he’d been desperate to learn more about Sam and how he’d gotten hooked up with Steve since meeting him.

“You’re not gonna fuckin’ believe this,” he said, plopping down into one of the oversized leather chairs and putting his feet up. “But I met him at some widowers support group.”

“What?” Bucky asked, taking a seat himself. “The hell were you doing at a widowers support group?”

“You remember Ace?”

“Ace O’Rourke from the old neighborhood?”

“Nah, Ace Green from up in Harlem.” Steve lit a cigarette. “We all did a job together a couple of years before you got sent up.”

“Oh yeah,” Bucky nodded, “I remember.”

“Anyway, so about a month after you went away, he’s sitting in on my game - you know, the big one at the hotel - and he’s going all night, losing all kinds of money. By the time everybody’s settling up, he’s out ten large to me.”

“No shit,” Bucky said, pulling out his own cigarette to light.

“Yup. And, well, long story short he still owes me about two grand. At this point, it’s not even the money, it’s the principle of the whole thing.” He paused to puff on his cigarette for a moment. “And usually I’d just send one of the guys, but I wanted to handle it myself, real personal like,” he added with a smirk. “That’s why I was up in Harlem at the community center - I heard Ace was gonna be at an AA meeting there. But, instead of a bunch of drunks, I found a bunch of depressed bastards crying about their dead spouses.”

“Jesus,” Bucky said, grimacing. “Sam was there? Wait - he’s a widower?” Bucky asked, clearly surprised.

“Yeah, he was married to some guy named Riley,” Steve answered disdainfully, his nose literally turned up. “A real do gooder type to hear Sam tell it. Personally he sounds like he was boring as hell to me,” he added, shrugging dismissively. 

Bucky’s head was practically spinning with this new information, but Steve went right ahead talking as if he hadn’t just casually announced that Sam was a widow and insulted his boyfriend’s dead spouse in the same breath. 

“Anyway, you should’ve seen Sam that day, Buck,” Steve said, voice almost boyish with the sheer earnestness of it. “It was like something out of a movie. Just when I’m about to say ‘fuck it’ and leave, in walks just about the best looking man I’ve ever seen. Our eyes met, and I swear it sent a shock through me.”

 _I know the feeling, pal,_ Bucky thought, guiltily.

“Then before I can even approach the guy, some idiot at a podium calls the weeping widows association together. So, what could I do,” Steve shrugged, “I took a seat next to Sam and pretended to be a widower too.”

“Bullshit,” Bucky responded, dragging out the word.

“Right hand to God,” Steve said, raising his palm up. “To this day, Sam thinks I was married to a chick named Peggy who died in a car crash,” he explained, laughing.

“British Peggy? That dame you messed around with for a couple of months a few years ago when she was here visiting family?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, I mean, that was the first name that popped in my head when it was my turn to spill my guts in the meeting, so that’s who I said.”

Bucky tried to fix his face, but his frown was clear when he said, “Man, don’t you think that’s kinda, I don’t know, fucked up?”

“What’s the big deal?” He asked, annoyed. “Since when is me lying to the person I’m sleeping with a problem?”

 _Since it’s Sam,_ Bucky thought, but out loud he said, “It’s not. I’m just sayin’, it’s kinda messed up.” 

“Well, sure it’s messed up,” Steve agreed. “But you should’ve heard Sam talking when we went around sharing our stories and introducing ourselves. You weren’t too far off when you called him a saint. So, believe me, I needed an in. Saying I was there to kick the crap outta some guy who owes me money wasn’t gonna cut it.”

“So, what, you just kept going to the meeting ‘til he agreed to go out with you?” He asked, thinking it sounded creepy as hell, but also just like the type of persistent behavior Steve would engage in.

“Please. Look who you’re talking to here.” He grinned. “I had his name and some of his general information, so I had one of the guys dig up some stuff about him - where he lives, works, hangs out - just the basics.”

Bucky’s eyes widened incredulously, but Steve went on as if he hadn’t noticed.

“You know Jarvis is always good for that type of stuff. Anyway, all it took was bumping into him a couple of times, you know, accidentally on purpose,” he said, chuckling. “When I asked him out after the third not so spontaneous meeting, he said yes. The rest is history.”

“So, you basically stalked him,” Bucky replied, before he could stop himself.

Steve actually smirked. “If that’s what you wanna call it.”

“That’s what it is,” Bucky mumbled under his breath. 

But Steve heard him and sat up a little straighter, leveling him with a look.

“What’s it to you? Why do you even care?”

 _Why?_ Well that was a good question - a fair question. Cause if Bucky was being honest with himself, he and Steve had both been dicking around their various significant others since high school and neither one of them had ever second guessed it or felt even an ounce of remorse about their behavior. 

This time was different though. Treating Sam like any other bimbo or fuckboy they’d had around throughout the years just seemed inherently wrong to Bucky. Sure, he knew that part of the reason he felt this way was because he was attracted to Sam, but even from their brief interaction, Bucky knew Sam was better than that - deserved better than that. But this was Steve’s guy not his, and as much as he wanted to, it wasn’t his place to tell Steve how to treat Sam.

“I don’t care,” he finally responded, shrugging. “I was just saying is all.”

“Right,” Steve drawled, still eyeing him curiously. “Anyway, if you’re done being a judgmental prick,” he joked, “I did actually call you here for a reason. I need a favor.”

“Well who can say no when you’re handing out compliments like that?”

Steve laughed. “Shut up, man. I need you to do something for me. See, I got Sam and me tickets to a play, one of those ones where they sing the whole fuckin’ time, to make up for what happened at Sarah’s last week, but now I have to deal with that mess out in Jersey and the meeting is the same night as the play, so…” he trailed off.

“So… what?”

“So, can you take him for me? Hire a car if you want, do dinner after - the works, just show him a good time for me. I feel lousy I’m messing up our plans again, so I wanna make sure he still has a great night. So, what do you say?”

It took some effort to not give into his immediate reaction to Steve’s suggestion and start grinning like an idiot. Luckily, the saner part of his brain piped up and told him that spending an entire night wining and dining a guy he wanted to sleep with - a guy who was strictly off limits - was the dumbest thing he could possibly do. 

He knew he had to shut this shit down. 

“So, what, I’m a babysitter now?” Bucky asked, feigning offense, while inside he was slightly hysterical at the thought of possibly seeing Sam again. “Have one of the other guys do it - Clint or somebody.”

“Clint’s going with me to Jersey, since this whole thing is partly his mess. Besides, Clint hits on anything with a pulse. It’s you I trust,” Steve said, pointing at Bucky. “So it’s you I want keeping an eye on Sam.”

“Steve—

Bucky barely got the name out before he was interrupted.

“What’s the big deal? I need a favor for one night. It’s not gonna kill you to spend some time with the guy. He’s important to me, Buck,” Steve added, voice going a little softer. “I know you only talked to him for a few minutes the other night—

Not true at all, but Bucky wasn’t about to correct him.

“—but I want you two to become friends. You can use this as an opportunity to get to know each other better.”

“Friends?” Bucky exclaimed, dramatically. “What would we even talk about for a whole night? Look,” he held up a hand to stop Steve from interrupting him. “It was one thing talking to him the other night when I thought he was just some guy. I could set the parameters of the conversation; I knew what _I_ wanted to keep secret. But he’s your boyfriend; if I’m hanging out with him on your behalf, you’re bound to come up, and how am I supposed to know what I can tell him? Contrary to what our teachers used to say, we do not actually share a brain.”

Steve rolled his eyes so hard Bucky suspected he must’ve pulled something, but even the constipated look on Steve’s face couldn’t stop him from continuing.

“Look, this guy thinks you’re some grieving widower when you’ve never even had another relationship that lasted longer than a couple of months. So, how are we supposed to get to know each other if I don’t even know what’s off limits - if I don’t know what cover stories you’ve already told? I mean, does he even know what you do for a living,” he gestured wildly between them, “what we do?” 

Steve sighed. “He knows _some_ of it.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows in question.

“Look, eventually keeping everything a secret became… difficult. Sam’s no idiot - he was starting to ask questions. Starting to realize that the job I said I had couldn’t be the job I _actually_ have. I knew he was probably gearing up to confront me or something, but Sam’s almost too damn decent for his own good - he’d never flat out call me a liar without proof. Plus he’s the type to always try to believe the best about a person.” Steve shook his head as if such a thing were crazy to him. “Anyway, I figured if I came clean and told him _some_ things so that he wouldn’t begin to question _everything_ then at least I could maybe control the narrative.”

“So…” Bucky said, gesturing for Steve to continue.

“So, he knows I host a big poker game sometimes, but doesn’t know about the underground casino. Knows I sell a little weed— 

“A _little_ weed?” Bucky repeated, incredulously.

“—but doesn’t think I’d ever touch dope,” Steve continued, rubbing a hand over his face. “I told him I own the bar, instead of just managing it, and the garage, but he doesn’t know about the other stuff. He pretty much assumed the bar was not on the up and up, but I practically swore it was clean. Believe me, he’d have never set foot inside the place if he knew what people really get up to there sometimes.”

Bucky made a strangled sound in his throat. This was all just way worse than he’d expected. Realistically, he knew Steve had to have told Sam some lies, but the stalking thing - and, really, he didn’t know what else to call it - and lying about being a widower was just a bit much, even for them. If nothing else, it was a bit more effort than either of them usually went through to get laid, which told Bucky two things: Steve was serious about Sam, and he’d probably do anything to keep the man. 

If Bucky needed any more reason to not do Steve this favor, he definitely had it, because Bucky genuinely wasn’t sure if he’d be able to keep his distance from Sam if he were put in close quarters with him again.

“Look, Steve, I don’t think I should be the one to take him. I mean, what if—

“Jesus,” Steve snapped. “Why are you being difficult? It’ll be fine. What I’ve told you, that’s all he knows. And that’s all he’s gonna know, okay? So, just do this for me, please?” He asked, voice calming a bit and coming out a little pleadingly. 

“Stevie—

“Hey,” Steve said, interrupting Bucky before he could get his response out. “I’m sorry for snapping at you, Buck. Things have just been a little tense between Sam and I lately, and now I’ve gotta deal with this bullshit in Jersey. It’d just help me out a lot if you did this for me?”

Bucky still wanted to refuse, but he didn’t see how he could keep arguing without Steve starting to ask some questions of his own. Cause, honestly, they did random favors for each other all the time, so he didn’t see how he could keep avoiding it without looking at least a little suspicious. 

“Fine,” he said, sighing deeply. 

“Great,” Steve said, shark grin back on his face now that he’d gotten his way. “Just uhh,” he stood and straightened his tie, “take him to the play Saturday night - the tickets are in my top desk drawer. Talk to him about regular bullshit like you would any civilian. Do whatever he wants, okay? Just make sure he has a good time.”

 _Man, it’d serve you right if I showed him a good time,_ he thought meanly. But all he said out loud was, “Aye-aye, Captain,” and gave him a wink.

********

“Barnes,” Sam said, clearly shocked, when he opened his door to find James standing on the other side of it. “Why are you…” he trailed off and cleared his throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?!” Bucky blurted out. 

Admittedly, it wasn’t the smoothest or even the most coherent response, but the last thing he’d expected when he’d knocked on Sam’s door, was to see the other man bare chested and skin glowing like he’d been rubbed down with cocoa butter. So, if Bucky was too busy staring at Sam’s arms and abs to give an appropriate answer, the man was just going to have to excuse him.

“Hmmm I don’t know,” Sam said wryly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Considering that you showed up at my door unannounced even though I never gave you my address, I’m gonna say my question is a little more pressing.”

Bucky continued to just stand there, clearly ogling Sam’s body, until Sam rolled his eyes and said, “Hey, eyes up here, stalker.” 

“Sorry,” Bucky said, raising his gaze to meet Sam’s. 

However, given the slight smirk on his face, Sam seriously doubted he was sorry at all.

“Also, not a stalker. Didn’t Steve tell you to expect me?” 

Sam’s expression went from mildly amused to extremely annoyed so fast that Bucky had to wonder if he had somehow offended the guy.

“If you mean, ‘did Steve call me 30 minutes ago with some lazy ass excuse about having an unexpected meeting come up, before telling me he was sending some friend of his named Bucky to take me to the theatre,’ then yeah, he did.”

“Ummm…” Bucky trailed off. He didn’t know what to say, but he could’ve killed Steve. Cancelling on Sam a half hour before they were supposed to leave was a dick move of the highest order, especially since Steve had told Bucky a couple of days ago that he wouldn’t be able to go.

Sam waited a moment for him to actually say something, before sighing at the dumbfounded look on his face.

“I guess you may as well come in.”

It wasn’t the warmest of invitations, but Bucky was just glad Sam hadn’t slammed the door in his face - especially after he’d stood around gawking at him like a weirdo - so he followed behind him dutifully.

Sam went straight into the kitchen and started pouring himself some cognac, then stopped so abruptly that he almost knocked over his tumbler.

“Wait,” he said, looking at Bucky. “Please tell me you didn’t know I was there waiting on Steve when you came over to talk to me the other night?”

Even though the knowledge of Steve and Sam’s relationship apparently hadn’t stopped his wandering eyes one bit, he had the nerve to look offended.

“No! I didn’t find ‘til after you’d left when one of my other friends told me. Come on doll, do I really seem like the type to flirt with my best friend’s fella?”

Sam snorted and arched one eyebrow in answer. 

“Well, okay, flirt sure,” he conceded, grinning. “But I was tryin’ to do a little more than flirt with you, Sam. Believe me, I don’t go around tryin’ to sleep with my friends’ boyfriends.”

“Of course you don’t,” Sam said, sarcastically. “You just stare at them for five minutes like you want to eat them up.” 

“Well, if you’re offering…” Bucky trailed off with a shrug.

“God,” Sam said, laughing despite himself. “You never quit, do you?”

“Be honest,” Bucky said, taking a seat on Sam’s couch and sliding him a coy look. “You wouldn’t like me half as much if I did.”

“Whatever,” Sam said, but notably didn’t argue further and instead went back to pouring his drink.

After downing what was considerably more than one shot’s worth of Hennessy, Sam looked towards Bucky who was lounging on his couch like he’d done it a dozen times.

“Okay,” Sam began, only to have Bucky interrupt him.

“So, uhh… you plan on finishing getting dressed anytime soon? I mean, not that I’m not enjoying the show,” he waggled his eyebrows, “but this thing is supposed to start pretty soon, and I’m pretty sure they have a strict no shoes no shirt no service policy.”

Sam stared at him for a moment, frankly outdone.

“I’m sorry, but this is weird - I mean, you must get how strange this is for me right?”

Apparently his question was rhetorical, cause he didn’t bother waiting for a response before continuing.

“Thirty minutes ago I got a call from my boyfriend telling me that he has a _meeting,_ ” he said, still obviously in disbelief about the whole thing. “But that I shouldn’t worry about missing the performance because he’s sending over one of his friends - who I’ve never even met - to take me in his place. Then the friend gets here and it’s… the hot guy who was trying to get into my pants a week ago. So, uhh… excuse me if it’s taking me a minute to wrap my head around the whole thing.”

“And honestly,” Sam went on, starting to sound a little more upset than angry. “Right now I’m too busy thinking about what I’m gonna say to Steve when he waltzes in here later tonight with another sorry ass apology present, to be worried about getting dressed to see some play I’ve already seen twice.”

Sam was clearly pissed at Steve, and while part of Bucky knew Steve completely deserved it, and another part of him was even happy that there was obviously trouble in paradise, he still couldn’t stop that side of him that had been having Steve Rogers’ back for as long as he could remember from speaking up in his friend’s defense.

“I know the whole short notice thing was inconsiderate as hell, but you should really cut him a break, Sam. The meeting over the New Jersey beef couldn’t be helped - there’s no way he could’ve missed it, without causing even bigger problems for us.

“Us?” Sam repeated, tone curious, as he walked forward and sat in his recliner. “So, you’re not just his friend, you’re his... business partner?” he guessed.

_See, this is what you get for doing Steve a favor._

Bucky grimaced internally, but tried to keep his face impassive when he answered.

“Basically.”

“At the bar or the auto shop?”

“Both.” _Among other things._

“So... how long have you two been friends slash business partners?”

Bucky gave a little smile. “I’ve known that punk since we were in elementary school,” he said, and his voice sounded fond even to Sam’s ears.

“What’s the New Jersey—

“Wait,” Bucky interrupted, before Sam could ask him something that he’d outright have to lie about. “Didn’t Stevie tell you anything about me when he said I was coming to get you?”

Sam scoffed, temporarily distracted from digging deeper into whatever had happened in New Jersey. “Are you kidding? He talked for like one minute before racing off the phone like his ass was on fire. Literally all he told me was that he had a meeting and couldn’t go, so his friend Bucky who’d just gotten back in town from an extended vacation would take me in his place.”

Bucky couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped his throat at that. “Vacation? Well that’s a helluva way to describe jail.”

Sam blinked. “Jesus Christ.”

“What don’t tell me you got something against convicts, Wilson?” Bucky asked, tone joking, but he was honestly curious to hear Sam’s answer. He sure hoped he hadn’t misjudged what type of person Sam was.

“Pfft like I care that you’ve been to jail,” Sam said, dismissively. “The legal system in this country is completely fucked up anyway. Besides, from what I’ve seen you’re basically harmless - a little too bold sometimes maybe, but a sweetheart nonetheless.” 

Sam couldn’t have been more wrong about him - Bucky was anything but harmless. But hearing someone as sweet as Sam talk about him like that made his heart practically skip a beat. 

“That Jesus Christ was for Steve and his apparent inability to ever tell me the complete truth about anything,” he explained.

 _Baby, you have no idea,_ Bucky thought to himself, but out loud he said, “Come on, Sammy, don’t be sore. He probably just didn’t want to put my business all out in the street - probably didn’t think it was his place.” Bucky figured that was at least partially true. “And I swear that meeting of his was unavoidable.”

“Well…”

Sam still sounded skeptical, but Bucky could tell the man was starting to cave so he kept going.

“So there’s no sense in sitting here mad all night. Besides, I’ve seen the tickets - our seats are great. _And_ I’m a Hamilton virgin, so I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“Really?” Sam asked, looking doubtful.

_Well, I’ve been looking forward to spending time with you again._

“Of course,” he responded aloud, standing up. “So how bout you go finish getting ready while I have a drink, then I’ll drive like a bat out of hell to get us there - what do ya say?”

“Ugh fine.” Sam sounded put upon, but he was holding back a tiny smile as he stood up. “But only cause I firmly believe everyone should see it at least once,” he said, before heading to his bedroom.

As Bucky watched what had to be the best ass he’d ever seen saunter down the hall, he couldn’t help but wonder if tonight was a gift from God, or some type of divine punishment for all the truly heinous shit he’d done throughout his life - he figured it was probably a little bit of both. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title: Michel’le


	3. I Don’t Wanna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments! You guys are awesome 😊

“Angelica, Eliza, and Peggy,” Bucky sang under his breath, for what had to have been the fifth time since they’d gotten back in his car. 

Sam couldn’t take it anymore - he laughed.

“What?” Bucky asked, taking his eyes off the road for a minute to glance at him.

“I’m sorry, I don’t even think you realize you’re doing it, but that’s not the first time you’ve sung that line.”

“Sorry,” Bucky said, blushing. “That shit is catchy as hell. I wasn’t expecting it to be that good.”

“Hey, I’m not judging. You’re talking to someone who has the original Broadway cast recording downloaded on his phone. Besides, your voice is cute when it gets all high like that.”

Sam was smiling fully now, that adorable gap on full display, and Bucky couldn’t bare the thought of dropping him off just yet.

“Hey, uh, you wanna go grab something to eat? I mean, we’re all dressed up anyway, and isn’t that how these things usually go — dinner and a show?”

The idea was tempting, but they were too dressed up for anything but a fancy restaurant, and the last thing Sam needed was to be at some cozy table for two staring into Bucky’s eyes while mood music played in the background.

“Not tonight, man.” He forced a small yawn. “I’m ready to just be at home and relax, you know?”

“No, yeah, makes sense.” Bucky nodded in agreement, but his voice lacked the energy it had just held a moment ago and his expression was more closed off than Sam had ever seen it.

Sam cursed his own stupidity, knowing he was about to throw himself right out of the frying pan and into the fire, but he couldn’t stop himself from speaking.

“I am starving though.” He slanted a look at Bucky. “There’s this pretty good Chinese food place around the corner from my place. Want to come up and hang out for a while? We can get takeout. I’m pretty sure I have some beer in the fridge too.”

“Sure, sounds good,” Bucky agreed calmly, trying to appear nonchalant.

But his twinkling eyes and ridiculous grin let Sam know he’d made the right decision.

******

“Man,” he said, while trying to move his box out of Bucky’s reach. “Stay out of my general tsos. You should’ve ordered your own.”

“But Sammy,” he said, cajolingly, “Chinese food is supposed to be served family style.”

“Yeah, no, it’s really not,” Sam responded, laughing when Bucky managed to finally pierce a piece of chicken with his fork. “Besides I don’t even know you like that to sit around sharing food.”

“Hmm more's the pity,” he said, popping his stolen chicken in his mouth and chewing obnoxiously. 

“You’re so ridiculous, I swear.”

“You love it.”

“I tolerate it.”

“What else would you tolerate?” Bucky asked, turning to look at him fully. 

Sam sighed. “James...”

“Jeez,” he interrupted. “I was joking.”

_Well kinda anyway._

“You’re dating my best friend. Do you really think I’m still gonna hit on you?”

Sam gave him a look.

“Hit on you for real,” he clarified. “You know I’m all talk, Sammy.”

Sam grinned and rolled his eyes, looking happy once again and Bucky could only thank God that Sam couldn’t see how serious he’d actually been a moment ago. 

“Well, next time get your own.”

“Next time?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “What? I seriously doubt this’ll be the last I see of you, Barnes.”

“God forbid,” Bucky deadpanned, causing Sam to smile.

As he stared into Sam’s eyes, Bucky couldn’t help a smile from spreading across his face in return as he felt his heart rate pick up in excitement. It sounded an awful lot to Bucky like Sam wanted him to keep coming around. Even if it wasn’t for the reasons that Bucky would’ve preferred, at this point he was more than happy to settle for being friends. He’d take anything Sam would offer, as long as he got to keep seeing the enchanting man. 

Who knows how long they might’ve sat there grinning goofily at each other if they hadn’t heard the door opening as an all too familiar voice called out “Honey, I’m home... and I come bearing gifts.”

 _Of course you do_ , Sam thought, a little meanly as the smile instantly fell off his face. For a second, he seriously wished that he’d never given Steve a key to his place, cause he just didn’t feel like dealing with this now. There didn’t seem to be a single fuck up that Steve didn’t think could be cured with a gift, and frankly Sam wasn’t in the mood.

“Hey, baby,” Steve said, then broke off abruptly as he walked into the living room to find his best friend sitting unreasonably close to his boyfriend.

Steve’s gaze flicked pointedly over his best friend’s shoeless feet, rolled up sleeves, and loosened tie and said, “Bucky, you’re... still here?” but it came out more like a question than a statement of fact.

“I was just on my way out,” Bucky said, putting down his food and reaching for his keys.

“No you weren’t,” he said, looking at Bucky in confusion. “You haven’t even finished your food yet.”

Bucky didn’t even bother glancing up from sliding his shoes on, when he answered. 

“It’s getting awful late and I’ve got some business to take care of tomorrow, so I’d better go, Sam.”

“But—

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Steve said, interrupting before Sam could speak up again. “Thanks again for helping me out tonight, man.”

“No thanks needed.” He was speaking to Steve, but he sent Sam a small smile when he said it. 

“Alright, I’ll be seeing you,” he said, still looking directly at Steve, but somehow Sam knew the words were meant for him. And if those words made his stomach do a little flip, well nobody needed to know.

Once Bucky was out the door, Steve went straight to Sam carrying the large package he’d brought in with him. 

Sam leaned back heavily and sighed. He hated to end what had turned out to be a really fun night on a sour note, but since Steve was here, they really needed to have a serious discussion. 

“Steve—

“I know we need to talk,” Steve interrupted, quickly. “But before you say anything, will you please open the gift.”

Sam started to argue, but then thought better of it. As far as he was concerned, whether he opened the present now or later, it wasn’t going to change the fact that he and Steve needed to hash some things out. So, muttering, “whatever,” Sam reached for it and started to peel off the wrapping paper.

The moment he had it completely unwrapped, Sam let out an audible gasp. It was his favorite wedding photo—the one of him and Riley sitting on the steps of his father’s church, knees pointed towards each other, hands clasped, as they stared into each other’s eyes, the overwhelming love they felt for one another clearly showing on their faces for the world to see. Only it wasn’t a photograph, it was a painting, and it was beautiful. 

Sam looked up for a moment, having caught sight of Steve’s signature in the corner. “Steve… did you make this?” He asked, clearly surprised. Sure, he had seen a few of Steve’s sketches, but his boyfriend was pretty touchy about his art. Steve had clammed up the few times Sam had asked him about it, and he’d never seen anything of Steve’s that looked like the painting. It was so flawless, so perfect, that if Sam hadn’t known better he would’ve sworn that a professional had made it. 

“Thank you, Steve,” Sam said, sounding choked up, as he continued to inspect the artwork. “It’s… it’s amazing.”

“I finished it about a week ago,” Steve explained. “And I was gonna wait to give it to you,” he went on, sounding nervous. It was all an act though. Inside he was cool as a cucumber. Inside he knew if he played this just right, not only would he get himself out of the doghouse completely, but he just might be able to get an apology out of Sam too.

“I thought it might be nice to give it to you on your anniversary; I know it’s coming up real soon. But with the way things have been lately—with the way you’ve been feeling and acting—I thought maybe you could use it now.”

Sam was so caught up in examining the painting that it took a moment for Steve’s words to sink in, but as soon as he processed them and their slightly accusatory tone, he almost dropped his gift.

“The way _I’ve_ been acting?” He asked incredulously. He was trying to stay calm, but his head was a mix of emotions from the events of the day. It took everything in him to keep his voice even when he asked, “What are you talking about, Steve?”

“Woah woah,” Steve said, “don’t get yourself even more upset. I’m just sayin’, I noticed you haven’t been yourself lately, and I thought it might help if I gave you this now. I thought maybe you needed something to cheer you up.”

 _Haven’t been myself lately?_ Sure, Sam knew he’d been a little snippy with Steve the past few days because of how Steve had stranded him at the bar. And, yes, he was a little short with Steve on the phone earlier because the man was basically standing him up for what was supposed to be his apology date, but he didn’t think any of his behavior lately had been unwarranted or out of character.

“Look,” Steve said, approaching Sam cautiously and sitting next to him on the couch. “I get it, okay? I remember how you told me that sometimes, particularly around days that especially remind you of Riley, you get a little moody and snappish, sometimes even downright depressed. And, with your anniversary coming up, I really should’ve seen this coming. I should’ve made sure to give you extra attention.”

It was true, Sam had said that, but more as a general warning than anything else. It had actually been a few years since he had fallen into a bad depression around their anniversary. And he hadn’t noticed that his mood was off lately. His best friend Claire hadn’t mentioned anything about him behaving oddly when he’d seen her at work the past week, neither had his parents or sister when he saw them for their regular Sunday dinner. And Claire and his family had seen him right after Riley died when he was at his absolute worst, barely able to get out of bed in the mornings, so if anyone would notice him behaving oddly, it would be them. Given all that, part of Sam believed Steve had to be exaggerating.

On the other hand though, it was Steve who had the key to his apartment. Steve who he talked to multiple times a day and saw at least once a day. So, if he were truly acting out of character, it made sense that Steve would notice.

“Have I really been…” he paused, took a deep breath, and gathered his words. “Have I really been acting out of sorts lately?”

“Yeah, babe,” Steve answered, and Sam’s face fell. “But not by much,” he said, rushing to reassure him. “I think it was just a combination of things. I mean, I was a jerk, I know. I never should’ve left you alone for so long the other night and I hate that I had to cancel tonight, but the way you snapped on me when I saw you the following day, it just wasn’t like you. You know, I don’t know all the fancy terminology,” he gave a self-deprecating laugh, “but I think my behavior coupled with you being susceptible to depression during this time of year, may have triggered you or something.”

Sam didn’t think he’d been _that_ harsh to Steve the other day. He hadn’t raised his voice or anything, but he was irritable and kind of short with him. He really thought it was warranted given the situation. But maybe he had gone too far…

He thought the moodiness had been due to Steve’s occasional disappearing acts and tendency to give him explanations that Sam sometimes suspected to be half truths. However, to be fair, Steve had warned him at the very beginning of their relationship that his job made him keep odd hours sometimes and dictated that he have a flexible schedule — he just hadn’t initially given Sam a truthful reason as to why that was the case.

It was all just so confusing, because this wouldn’t have been the first time he had taken his frustration and anger over Riley’s death out on whoever was closest to him at the time. But Sam had worked hard to get to the point where he dealt with his feelings in a healthy way, and he hated to think that maybe he was backsliding again.

“Jeez, maybe I need to contact my therapist,” he said, finally speaking. But with the way his head was bent and he was biting his lip, Steve knew Sam was talking more to himself than he was to Steve.

“Maybe cutting back on my sessions was a mistake.” His therapist had thought he was ready, but if he was punishing Steve cause he was hurting over Riley, and was doing it without even being aware, then he clearly wasn’t ready at all.

“What?” Steve said, feeling a little panicky thinking he’d overplayed his hand. The last thing he needed was some nosy stranger examining their relationship and asking a bunch of questions, or getting Sam to start questioning things.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Steve assured him. “Sure, you’ve been a little more irritable than usual lately, maybe a little quicker to get upset about ordinary things,” he lied easily, without breaking a sweat at his deception. “But that’s only to be expected. It’s completely normal to be upset around your anniversary. Hell, I’d think it was weird if you weren’t. And I wouldn’t have even brought it up, but it seemed like it was affecting us, and I didn’t want us to go borrowing trouble.”

Sam really hadn’t thought he was borrowing trouble, and he still felt like he’d had valid reasons to be upset with Steve. But maybe his response had gone past what was reasonable. Maybe this really was a displacement situation and he was diverting all of his frustration over missing Riley onto Steve, and picking fights with him because Steve was one of the people he felt safest with, so he knew there wouldn’t be any real consequences to his actions. 

And boy did the thought of doing that to someone he loved make him feel crappy.

“Steve, I’m really sorry,” Sam said, softly, looking up to catch his boyfriend’s eye. “I never want you to feel like I’m letting my baggage affect you, I don’t want to take something out on you that you’re in no way responsible for. I—

“It’s fine, Sammy.” Steve said, interrupting him. “You’re fine. I think we just need to give it a little time. You can work on some of the exercises and tips your therapist has already given you.” He put his arm around Sam’s shoulders. “Plus you’ve always got me to distract you from your thoughts,” he said with a smile. “In fact,” he continued, sliding off the couch and kneeling before Sam. “I think I know just what kind of distraction you need.”

“Baby,” Sam sighed, feeling out of it and a little guilty. “You really don’t need—

“Shhh,” Steve whispered, as he dragged his hand deliberately over Sam’s crotch. “Let me make you feel better.” He reached for Sam’s zipper and looked up at him coyly. “Are you gonna let me do that, baby? Are you gonna let me take care of you?”

Sam’s breath hitched and he gave a nod, as the corner of his mouth curled up into a tiny smile. He knew using sex as a distraction wasn’t the healthiest thing to do, but as distractions went, it didn’t get much better than a blow job from his man.

******

Much later as they were laying together in bed, exhausted and satisfied, Steve knew he should just count his win and go to sleep. From the way Sam’s breathing had evened out, Steve figured his boyfriend was already halfway there. But, unfortunately, Steve had never been one to leave well enough alone, so he couldn’t stop himself from commenting on the one little thing that had been bothering him since he’d walked in Sam’s apartment earlier in the evening.

“So,” he said, moving to sit up. “You had a good time with Bucky?”

“Mmm hmm.” Sam mumbled. “He’s cool.”

“That’s nice.” He paused, then kept his tone deceptively light when he said, “you two looked pretty comfortable when I walked in.”

“Mmm yeah,” Sam said, still sounding more asleep than awake.

“It’s just kinda strange though. I mean, the show had to have ended way before I got here, but you guys were still eating dinner when I walked in the door. It looked like Bucky had barely touched his food—

Sam was starting to become more awake (and annoyed) by the second. Steve’s tone was still fairly mild, but underneath it there was a certain harshness that Sam knew well. And he wished more than anything that his boyfriend would just spit it out, so he could go to sleep and put the entire weird night behind him already. 

“—So what did you guys do in between seeing the show and ordering takeout?”

Sam let out just about the loudest sigh Steve had ever heard in his life, before sitting up against the headboard and turning on the lamp on his bedside table.

“Are you serious right now?” He asked, clearly exasperated. “Like are you seriously sitting here right now trying to accuse me of something?”

“No,” he responded quickly. “No, Sam, of course not. I just—

“You just don’t know how to not be jealous and suspicious,” Sam interjected. “Look,” he sighed again, “I know you and Peggy had problems with infidelity.”

Steve and Peggy hadn’t had problems with infidelity. Steve and Peggy hadn’t had problems with anything. They weren’t even messing around together long enough to have problems. Peggy cheating on him was just something Steve pulled out of his ass one day as an excuse for why he got so jealous sometimes. 

“But you don’t have to worry about that with me,” he added, gently.

“I know, Sam. I’m sorry, it’s like I just can’t help it sometimes.”

Sam shook his head. “You’re ridiculous, you know that right? One: you sent me out with the guy. Two: he’s your best friend, so what’s there to even worry about? And, three: this wouldn’t even be an issue if you had told me you couldn’t go more than thirty minutes in advance, then maybe I could’ve invited one of my friends.”

Not that he’d ever admit it, but not wanting Sam to be able to invite one of his own friends, was the main reason Steve hadn’t given him more warning. He knew Sam’s friends only tolerated him at best, so the idea of one of them taking his expensive ass seat was just a tad more than he could bear.

Steve scoffed. “Who? The one that hates me?”

If it wasn’t for the fact that Sam knew Steve genuinely thought his friends didn’t like him, Sam would’ve thought he said that just to distract him from the topic. at hand: Steve’s tendency to get jealous for no reason. But, not wanting to broach the jealousy thing and seem like he was picking a fight when Steve had already basically said he’d been feeling attacked lately, Sam chose to forget about it and respond to what Steve had just said.

“T’Challa doesn’t hate you. All he said was that you came off shady when he first met you,” he explained, and not for the first time. “And, to be fair, he wasn’t exactly wrong. But that was months ago. He doesn’t even feel the same way now.” Not entirely accurate, but it would be easier on everyone involved if Steve didn’t know that.

“Besides, I actually meant Claire. She’s never seen Hamilton, thinks the whole idea of it is kinda problematic, but I think I could’ve convinced her to go.”

“Claire?” Steve repeated in disbelief. “Claire your ex-girlfriend?”

“Claire, my best friend,” Sam responded, rolling his eyes. “We dated in high school. Our relationship basically consisted of her wearing my letterman’s jacket and me carrying her books down the hall,” he explained, for what was probably the tenth time since they’d started dating. “It was kid shit.”

“You have your prom picture framed and hanging in the hallway,” Steve countered, a hint of accusation in his voice.

“Yeah, cause it was a fun night and she’s one of my oldest friends,” Sam snapped, starting to think the night was going to end in a fight after all. “Sorry that we don’t all hide all our friends like you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sam sneered openly. “Come on, we’ve been dating for months, and I’ve met like none of your friends. You barely even talk about them, and when you do it’s like you go out of your way to give zero details.”

“What are you talking about? You and Bucky seemed chummy as hell not even a few hours ago.”

Sam clenched his jaw at the tartness in Steve’s voice and interjected, “I literally heard of Bucky for the first time today.”

“And,” Steve went on as if Sam hadn’t spoken, “We have dinner with Tony and Pepper at least once a month.”

“Yeah, but that’s literally it. And, I’m not trying to be funny, but you barely even seem to like Tony, so I don’t know why we even go.”

_We go because I know it’d be weird if you never interacted with any of my friends. And now that he’s married, Tony is pretty much out of the game so he’s the safest choice._

Sam sighed. He didn’t want to ask, but if they were going to be hashing stuff out, he figured he might as well. “I mean, is there something else you’re not telling me about what you do - what your friends do? Cause if it’s just the relatively minor stuff you’ve mentioned I don’t get why I can’t know about them or meet them. I’m not trying to be difficult or go back on my original request, but it all just seems kinda... suspect to me. I asked to be kept away from… criminal activity,” he said, grimacing at his own choice of words. “But that wouldn’t explain why I can’t meet any of your other friends unless I’m missing something…” he trailed off, and asked the question he really wanted to. “Is there something you’re not telling me — something else you’re hiding?”

If Steve were a better man, he might’ve taken that moment with Sam looking at him so openly to come clean about all of it. If he was truly the decent man Sam thought him to be, he might’ve told Sam how he’d used his resources to find him after they met the first time, then orchestrated their future meetings, and was still lying about how he made most of his money. Hell, if he was half the man Sam thought he was, he might have at the very least come clean about not ever being married.

But Steve had never cared about being a good man, a decent man, and he wasn’t about to start now. As long as Sam believed him to be those things, it was good enough for him.

So, Steve did what he always did when it came to keeping Sam happy — hell, what he did when it came to keeping Sam in general: he lied.

“You think I’d let you meet Bucky and practically send you on a date with him if I had anything to hide?” He asked, with a laugh. “Bucky knows me better than anybody.”

“My friends are harmless,” he assured him, even as visions of Natasha taking down men twice her size and Clint’s dead eye precision with that custom made arrow shaped throwing knife he was so fond of danced in his head. “Anything they do is nothing worse than anything I’ve done.” Which was actually one hundred percent true, but didn’t mean what Sam probably thought it meant.

“Just like with the bar, I only keep you away cause I thought I was the only criminal you’d be able to tolerate,” he explained, giving a self-deprecating laugh knowing just how Sam would react.

“Steve,” Sam said, reaching over and grabbing his hand. “You know I don’t care if you sell a little weed or host a card game when the bar has a bad month and you need to supplement your income.”

Steve kept his face down and expression sad, but inside he was cheering, still slightly amazed that Sam accepted any of the explanations he’d given him a few months ago.

“I don’t think of you as just some criminal,” Sam assured him. “All I’m saying is, unless they’re planning on committing a felony while I’m standing right next to them, then I think it’s fine if I meet this group of friends you’re always mentioning but never really talking about.”

Steve let go of Sam’s hand and pulled him into his arms. “How about this: why don’t I throw your new best friend Bucky a party to celebrate him being back—

“From jail,” Sam interjected, with more than a hint of sassiness, causing Steve to blanch for a moment before he noticed the smile on Sam’s face.

“It’s fine, Steve,” Sam said. “Bucky explained to me that you just didn’t want to tell tales out of school, and I get it; I wouldn’t go around telling my friend’s secrets either. Just, no more lies. Please. I’d rather you said you can’t talk about something than just flat out tell me a lie. Deal?”

Steve gave him a squeeze. “Deal,” he promised, sighing slightly in relief. “Anyway, so what if I throw Bucky a welcome home party and invite the whole group, that way you can meet everybody at once.”

“That sounds great,” Sam said, snuggling against Steve’s chest and closing his eyes once again. 

_Yeah, great_ , Steve thought to himself. _Now all I have to do is brief everyone on what they can and cannot discuss._ Steve grimaced. _This is gonna be a pain in the ass._ But as he looked at the man laying on top of him and slowly fading into sleep, he couldn’t even be mad. Sam was completely worth it.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always welcome and appreciated!
> 
> Chapter title: Aaliyah


	4. Best Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recent events cause Sam and Bucky to each go looking for some advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all the comments and kudos!

For a few weeks now, Sam had been going over to his sister’s house to binge Stranger Things whenever either of them had free time. Even though the show was typically able to suck him into the story enough to distract him from whatever was on his mind, this time was different. He just couldn’t stop thinking about what Steve had said to him the other night, and it had him worried. Worried enough to mention it to someone he knew wasn’t Steve’s biggest fan lately, no matter how much she tried to hide it. 

He figured if he was going to bring it up at all, he’d better do it right then, because who knew when his niece and brother-in-law were due to get home. The last thing he wanted to do was have an audience for this conversation. 

“Sarah, have I been acting... off lately?”

“Only since about the moment you learned to talk,” she said, laughing.

“No, sis, come on. Seriously, have I been behaving badly, or seemed snappish to you?”

His sister paused the tv and looked towards him, frowning at the anxious expression on his face.

“Why do you ask?”

“Sarah,” he said, finally meeting her eyes. “I just need to know, okay? I’m not gonna be upset, just be honest. Have I been acting like I used to, you know, in the old days when Riley first passed?”

“No,” she said, forcefully. “You haven’t been. Like at all.”

Sam let out a shaky breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding.

“Okay,” he nodded to himself, “okay, good.”

He reached between them for the remote, intending to unpause the show, but Sarah snatched it out of his grasp before he could.

“Yeah, no. We can get back to binging just as soon as you tell me why you just asked me that out of the blue. Have you not been feeling well or something? Do _you_ think your behavior has been odd?”

“No,” he answered, and sighed. “That’s the thing, My mental health has been pretty steady for a while now, or, at least I thought it was. But the other night, Steve said…” he trailed off, his voice quiet and troubled.

 _Oh, here we go_ , she thought trying her best not to openly sneer. She didn’t want to bash her brother's boyfriend, but it was just that Steve made her so damn mad. And she knew that realistically, she was actually mostly mad at herself because she’d encouraged Steve’s relationship with her brother. When Steve first came on the scene, he’d seemed perfect: a handsome guy, with old school manners, who adored her brother — who seemed to want to do nothing more than spoil Sam and make him happy. She’d sung Steve’s praises for months. 

However, ever since she found out about him lying about what he did for a living, alarm bells had been going off. Sarah had always been a big believer in where there’s smoke there’s fire, and she couldn’t help but think that when Steve had finally told Sam the truth, that he hadn’t told Sam the _entire_ truth.

And if her gut feeling was right — if Steve wasn’t really who he appeared to be and her brother ended up getting hurt , Sarah felt like she’d be at least partially to blame because of how hard she’d pushed Sam to be receptive to Steve in the beginning of their relationship.

But she couldn’t think about that now. All she could do was what she’d always done for her baby brother: offer support and help him in any way she could.

“What’d Steve say, Sammy?” She prompted, after a moment when it seemed like he might not continue.

“Steve said that I’ve been snapping at him, picking fights and stuff. He thought I might not be acting like myself because my anniversary with Riley is coming up.”

She took a deep breath and pulled her legs up, getting into a more comfortable position on the couch. 

“Okay, maybe you should start from the beginning.”

“Well for the past month or so, we’ve been having a harder time than usual aligning our schedules. I told you before that Steve’s schedule is pretty random on the best days and downright hectic on the worst days—

 _That’s what happens when you’re a gangster,_ she thought, but kept her expression neutral.

—but he’s been even busier than usual lately. So, about a week and a half ago our schedules line up and we’re supposed to go to the movies, but he stops at his bar to take care of something he said was supposed to only take a few minutes. Long story short, he disappears and leaves me sitting there for over an hour until I finally take an Uber home.”

“What?! I know he didn’t—”

“Wait, Sarah, let me finish.”

She pursed her lips in disdain, but gestured for him to continue.

“And I’ll admit, I was kinda salty the next few times we spoke. I didn’t ignore his calls or hide in my room when he came over, but I was short with him and kinda threw it in his face a couple of times. But then he got us tickets to Hamilton to make up for it, and Sar, the seats were amazing. Like, I know he probably shelled out a grand per seat or something close, especially since I’m pretty sure he got them at the last minute.”

 _Probably got them from one of his marks but whatever,_ she thought meanly, not willing to give an inch after this newest piece of information. _Have my brother sitting around that dingy ass bar like he’s some kinda jump off._

“Anyway the night of the play rolls around and I’m getting ready, excited as hell, cause you already know how much I enjoy that problematic ass play,” he said, chuckling, getting a smile out of his sister. “But then a half hour before he’s supposed to pick me up, he calls and says he can’t go, but he’s sending somebody to take me.”

“Sam,” she started, full of righteous anger for him, but he waved her off and kept going.

“And, yeah, I can have a mouth on me, and I got smart with him on the phone. What can I say? I was pissed. Here he was ditching me again, but still, I didn’t think I was overreacting. And actually, I ended up having a really great time with his friend, but I was determined for us to hash things out when he got to my place.”

“And did you?”

“Kinda,” he answered, sounding confused to his own ears. “But not how I thought we would. He walks in, gives me a present, and it’s… it’s incredible, Sarah. A beautiful painting of me and Riley. But that’s when he drops the bomb on me: he thinks I’m depressed because my anniversary is coming up and that I’m acting out and taking my hurt over Riley out on him. And the thing is, I was upset with him, but he acted like I was doing way too much and overreacting, and now I’m not so sure. I warned him in the beginning of our relationship that there was a possibility of me becoming depressed or irritable randomly because of Riley’s death, but I really don’t think I was — I don’t think _I am.”_

“Pfft, I’m sure he was just trying to get himself off the hook, Sammy. I’m sure you were fine.” 

“I don’t know. He was the one there and he said—”

“Were you yelling and cussing him out?”

“No; you know I wouldn’t do that.”

“Did you break stuff? Damage any of his property?”

“No,” he answered, shaking his head.

“Hmmm okay then,” Sarah said, nodding along like she hadn’t already known the answer. Her brother could get upset like anybody, but she’d never act like that towards someone. “So you clearly weren’t out of control. And you weren’t calling out of work, sleeping all day and refusing to eat like you did last time you were depressed, is that right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” 

“Then we’re back to my original theory: Steve fucked up and he knew it, so he decided to bring you a present to ink some good will, and then he tried to shift some of the blame onto you,” she finished, sounding more upset by the moment. “This fool is gaslighting you to the point that you’re sitting here questioning your own memories.”

“He wouldn’t do that, Sarah,” Sam insisted. “I can’t say how my behavior comes off to someone else; I can’t invalidate his feelings on the matter. Besides, he wouldn’t lie like that.”

Sarah made a choked sound in her throat, and fairly spat out, “yes he would. He would definitely lie to you. He’s done it before because he thought you’d be angry if you knew the truth about something, and now he’s doing it again!”

“I can’t know his mind. I can’t know if he is lying about something like this, something that’s kinda subjective,” Sam said, frowning. 

“Maybe not, but what does your gut tell you?”

“That I was fine,” he answered, honestly. “That I was upset, but not unreasonably so. Yes, my anniversary is coming up, and God knows I miss Riley so much that it literally hurts sometimes, _but_ I don’t think I’ve been taking that hurt out on Steve.”

“Well, alright, then all I can say is go with your gut.”

“Go with my gut,” he repeated, sounding unimpressed. “Gee thanks.”

She smacked him lightly on the shoulder. “I’m serious, smart ass; go with your gut, your instincts. I mean, honestly, in the grand scheme of things, has it ever steered you wrong? Was it wrong when it led you to join the Air Force instead of going to college, and you got to meet the love of your life? Was it wrong when Riley wanted you guys to re-enlist yet again, but you felt like you two needed to get out, and then five minutes after you were back you got the last spot in that peer counseling certification course at the VA? Was it wrong when it led you to pursue a nursing degree even though you already had a steady job that you enjoyed? No, it wasn’t. And I doubt it’s suddenly gonna start setting you up for failure now,” she paused, then added with a smirk, “at your big age.”

“Says the woman who’s older than me,” he said, looking a little perkier than he had a moment ago.

“Anyway, all I’m saying is, you were there and you know yourself best. And if you think you’ve been behaving badly and Steve was right to call you out, then you know the steps you need to take to work on that. _But,_ ” she went on, sounding more serious than she had all night, “if you think he was exaggerating, if you think it was all some ruse to get himself out of the doghouse, then I want you to seriously consider if you want to be with the type of guy who’d try to mindfuck you over what was, essentially, a pretty minor fight. Cause if he’d lie like that just to stop you from calling him out about missing a couple of dates, then who knows what else he’d lie about.”

******

When her brother finally paused to take a breath, Becca Barnes put down her now nearly empty oversized coffee cup, leaned back in her chair and leveled him with an unimpressed look. He had dropped by their mother’s house unexpectedly while she was there visiting, but his appearance was looking less random by the minute. 

“Bucky Bear, did you come over here looking for permission to break up your best friend’s relationship?”

“What? No! Of course not!” He exclaimed, looking outdone. “I’m over here so you can talk me out of it.” 

“Are you sure?” She asked, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Cause I think you came looking for a co-signer.” 

“I did not.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please. You’ve been doing this since we were little kids. You’d always come up with some dumb ass plan then come tell me, and by the time you were done explaining it, it would be _our_ dumb ass plan.” She gave a small laugh. “With the exception of your man-bun phase, I’ve literally never tried to talk you out of anything in our entire lives. In fact, half the time, I’ve been right by your side, actively egging you on while you’re scheming.”

Bucky had to concede that Becca had a point; it’d always been like that between the two of them. They were thrown together all the time when they were younger, so they learned early on to stick together and always have each other’s backs no matter what. Their parents were always working, and when their dad died when Bucky was twelve and Becca was ten, their mom had started to work two jobs and was more scarce around the house than before. So, Bucky took care of Becca and she took care of him; and if he was off doing something he shouldn’t have been, she was never too far behind. 

Becca was the stereotypical little sister: always tagging along, always doing what he did, and always hyping him up while somehow managing to talk shit to him at the same time. All that aside though, Bucky had still expected her to not actively encourage him this time. Not when someone else so close to them would get hurt. 

“Okay, but this is different,” Bucky insisted. 

“Damn right it’s different,” she agreed. “I just listened to you wax poetic about this Sam guy for like twenty minutes straight, and I’ve seen you display that type of interest in someone else like... never.”

True, but not really his point. “No, it’s different, cause it’s Steve. Sam is Steve’s, and I cannot do that to him. He’s my best friend.”

“So he’d want you to be happy,” she said, shrugging.

“With his boyfriend?” Bucky asked incredulously. “Stop being deliberately obtuse. You know I can’t go after Sam.” 

“Okay,” she took a deep breath, “I’m gonna say something, and I want you to try your best not to clutch your pearls and faint, okay?” 

It took some effort, but he managed to not respond to that, and simply waited for her to continue.

“I know he’s your best friend and all, but fuck Steve,” Becca continued, ignoring the look on her brother’s face. “Yeah, under different circumstances I _might_ think you going after someone’s man was messed up, even if I wouldn’t say so outright. But, from what you just told me, Sam sounds more like Steve’s victim than his boyfriend.”

“Jesus. I see you managed to become even more dramatic while I was away. And here I’d thought that wasn’t even possible.”

“What?” She said, sounding mildly offended. “Their whole relationship sounds like it’s based on a bunch of lies.”

Okay, so his sister wasn’t really exaggerating — at least about the part where Sam and Steve’s relationship was built on a foundation of lies, but still, who was Bucky to judge. If he had met Sam first, could he honestly say he wouldn’t have lied to get him. Sure, he didn’t want to lie to Sam now, about anything, but who knows what he might’ve said in the beginning to get Sam’s attention if he had met him first. 

“Hell, you’d probably be doing Sam a favor if you got him away from Steve,” she added, before taking her last sip of coffee.

“So, breaking up someone’s relationship is doing them a favor now?” He asked smartly. “Even if I could manage to do it, there’s no way it could realistically happen without Sam and Steve both getting hurt.”

“I mean, Sam sounds like a good guy, so of course I don’t want some innocent person getting hurt. But why should you care about Steve’s feelings?”

“Okay,” Bucky said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “What’s your deal with Steve? You used to introduce him to people as your brother, now it’s fuck him and his feelings?”

Becca bit her lip, feeling a tad guilty. It was true: Steve had always been like a second big brother to her, or at least a really cool cousin. The kind that never complained about her joining in the fun even though she was younger. The kind who brought her back a piece of candy from the corner store without her even having to ask. That was in the old days though, back when she never would’ve questioned his loyalty to her brother or advised Bucky to ever turn against him. However, the past year had her questioning a lot about Steve. 

“I don’t recall him thinking a whole lot about how you were feeling this past year when you were locked up like an animal. That asshole didn’t even go to visit you once. He didn’t even come to check on Ma, even though she’s always been so good to him, especially after both his parents passed away.”

Bucky actually snorted at that. “You think Steve Rogers is gonna willingly walk into a jail?” he asked with a laugh. “Only way Stevie’s going into County is with cuffs on and a pistol at his back, and I don’t blame him one bit.”

He truly didn’t. As far as Bucky was concerned, the only place more miserable than jail was prison, so he didn’t begrudge Steve not wanting to set foot in the place — not when he was only serving a year. Maybe if he was in a prison or had to serve more time, he’d feel differently, but he couldn’t be mad about Steve not showing up during his twelve month sentence.

However, he was a little surprised and kind of pissed that his best friend never dropped by to look in on his mother, but he knew better than to say it out loud. It would only add fuel to the hate fire his sister apparently already had burning, and she was upset enough as it was. 

“He did right by me though, Bec. He kept money on my books, sent those sci-fi novels I like so much, and greased enough palms to make sure the guards stayed off my back.”

“But—

“I know you were worried about me while I was away,” he said, giving her a soft smile. “But I’m back now, and I’m fine. And Steve did everything for me that he should’ve done, so cut him a break, okay?”

“Humph,” she said, full on pouting. “What he did was the least he should’ve done for his oldest friend, so I’m not gonna go pinning any medals on him any time soon, but I’ll stop complaining about him if that’s what you want.” 

“Good,” he said, ready to change the subject completely at that point.

“Yeah, good,” she said, sarcastically. “My original point still stands though.”

 _So much for changing the subject_. Bucky sighed deeply, clearly exasperated. “Becca—

“I think you should go for it with Sam, Steve’s feelings be damned.”

“And what, throw away decades worth of friendship over somebody I’ve hung out with all of two times? Even _I’m_ not that reckless.”

Now it was Becca’s turn to snort. “Uhhh yeah you are; you _totally_ are. Besides, we wouldn’t even be sitting around talking about it unless you were at least considering it.”

“There’s a big difference between considering it and actually making a play for my best friend’s man.”

“Look, I’m not saying you have to go stick your tongue down his throat right this second, but maybe you could spend some more time with him and get to know him a little better. See if this infatuation you have actually has any legs. You owe it to yourself to at least see if this could really be something. And, it doesn’t sound like Sam was exactly unresponsive to your flirting, so it seems like something’s there.”

“I don’t know...” 

“You said Steve wants you two to be friends, right? So,” she shrugged, “be Sam’s friend. His very _very_ good friend. And if Steve loses his boyfriend in the process, then he probably never really had him in the first place.”

“But what about—

“Oh my god,” she cut him off, sounding annoyed. “I’m not about to keep going back and forth with you about something we both know you’re gonna do anyway,” she said, standing up. “You’ve always been an ‘ask for forgiveness and not permission’ kinda guy, don’t let the fact that it’s Steve change things for you.”

“Now,” she said, grabbing her purse and keys off the table. “Can I go meet my friends, or do you have some more Sweet Valley High tales to tell me about?”

“You’re such a fuckin brat,” he said, but the fond smile on his face took the bite out of his words. “Go on, get outta here.”

“And you’re an asshole,” she said, bending down to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “But you deserve to be happy too, even if it is at Steve’s expense. Remember that okay? Remember that you getting what you want won’t necessarily be a bad thing for you, or Sam,” she added, before walking out the door.

What _did_ he want? He wanted to get to know Sam better. He wanted to make sure Sam was safe and happy, protected and respected, and as much as he loved Steve, he didn’t think those things would be possible for Sam if he stayed with his best friend. Hell, he wasn’t sure those things would be possible for Sam if he were with Bucky, but damn it, he at least wanted the chance to try. 

He wanted to be able to talk to Sam and see him whenever he had the urge. He wanted Sam on his arm and eventually in his bed. 

And he wanted to manage to do all of those things without losing his friendship with Steve. 

He doubted it was possible, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t gonna go for it anyway… 

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback is appreciated!!
> 
> Chapter title: Brandy


	5. Don’t Take it Personal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks you guys for all the comments and kudos!

“You know,” Sam said with a grin, as he approached the bar. 

The sound of the voice he’d missed so much, caused Bucky's head to shoot up immediately. 

“There’s just something about an empty bar in the daytime — the whole thing reeks of sadness.” He shook his head. “Why don’t y’all open the blinds, man. Let a little sunshine in.”

“Now who needs sunshine, when we’ve got your smile to brighten up the place, doll,” Bucky replied, as he came around the bar to stand next to Sam.

“Here you go,” Sam said, chuckling. “Tell me Barnes: is it possible for you to talk to someone without flirting?”

“Not when that someone’s you,” Bucky replied, just a touch too earnestly, given the resulting blush on Sam’s face.

Sam cleared his throat. “Anyway, is Steve around? I’ve got his phone,” he explained, pulling it out of his pocket. “I can’t believe he left it; he never does that.”

“He’s around here somewhere,” Bucky said, vaguely. “So,” he began, gaze sliding slowly down the length of Sam’s body as he took in his outfit. “Who told you I’ve always had a thing for sexy nurses?”

“Man, shut up,” Sam said, but he was smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re adorable,” he shot back. “But, seriously, how come I didn’t know you were a nurse?”

“Barnes, what you don’t know about me could fill a book.”

“Well,” Bucky replied, sliding close enough to whisper in Sam’s ear. “I’m up for changing that whenever you are.”

“Really?” Sam asked, leaning back enough to look at Bucky’s face to gauge his expression, because Sam honestly couldn’t tell from his tone whether he was joking.

“I’m serious,” Bucky said, as if he could read Sam’s mind. “Steve wants us to be friends, so let’s be friends. We should hang out.”

“And do what?” 

“Go to dinner,” Bucky suggested. “Or a movie, or Mars.” He shrugged. “It really doesn’t matter to me what we do, as long as we’re doing it together,” he said, winking in Sam’s direction.

“You know, those sound an awful lot like dates,” Sam pointed out, mildly. But his stomach was practically doing somersaults.

“Nah, friends go to dinner and the movies all the time. They’re only dates when there’s some kind of mutual attraction involved,” he said coyly, as he stepped closer yet again and closed that last bit of distance between them. 

This close, Sam could smell his cologne, the scent a somewhat bewildering yet intoxicating mix of citrus and woodsy musk. For a brief and mortifying moment, Sam had the most ridiculous urge to nuzzle Bucky’s neck so he could smell it better. 

Bucky’s heady scent combined with the intensity of his gaze was doing quite a number on Sam, and it must’ve shown on his face, because Bucky brought a hand up, gently skimming Sam’s cheek and said, “Yeah, okay, it could definitely be considered a date then.”

Before Sam could even think about formulating a response, he heard some dishes clatter in the back, and just like that — the moment was over.

Sam took a pretty obvious step back, and sighed. “Bucky—

“It wouldn’t be though,” Bucky interrupted, sounding slightly panicked. He knew he’d overplayed his hand, but there was just something about being near Sam that made him act recklessly. 

“I just,” he took a deep breath and tried to start over, “I had fun hanging out with you — the night we met and the other night when we went to the play. And I’d like to do it again. I want to get to know you better,” he explained, tone embarrassed but honest. 

“James,” Sam said, expression softening immediately. “I had a good time with you too, but—

“Wait,” Bucky interrupted him again, hoping to stave off an outright rejection, and decided to try another angle. “I’m not gonna bullshit you—if you weren’t with Steve, I’d definitely be asking you out.” 

_And I’d probably have said yes,_ Sam thought, even though he felt guilty for acknowledging it even to himself. 

“But you are, so I’m not. That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to have friends though, does it?”

“Hey, baby,” Steve called out, as he walked into the bar from the back office, causing Bucky to sigh deeply and take his own step back.

“What are you two whispering about?” He asked, draping an arm around Sam’s waist.

“Nothing, really,” Bucky answered for them, his tone exuding a calmness he didn’t really feel. “I was just saying how I didn’t know Sam was a nurse.”

“My baby wears many hats,” Steve said, grinning. “Did you know he’s a certified counselor too, and a war hero?”

“No, I didn’t,” Bucky said, eyes lighting up in interest. 

“Oh Lord,” Sam said, blushing.

“What? I’m your man, it’s literally my job to brag on you.”

“And on that note, I think I’ll be leaving. It’s time for me to head to work anyway. Here’s your phone,” he said, and handed it over. 

“Thanks, baby,” Steve said, before grabbing the phone and giving Sam a quick kiss. 

“It was no problem,” Sam assured him. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Oh, babe,” Steve called out, when Sam was right by the door.

“Yeah,” Sam said, turning around.

“I got a date picked out for Bucky's party, so when you go into work, make sure you request PTO for the 22nd?”

“The 22nd?” Sam repeated, suddenly going pale. “But that’s... that’s me and Riley’s...”

“Oh God,” Steve interrupted, “that’s not the day, is it?” He asked, expression turning immediately apologetic. “The other night when I said I knew your anniversary was coming up, I thought it was the 25th not the 22nd. Sam, baby, I swear. I would never....”

“It’s okay,” Sam cut him off. “I know you wouldn’t...” he trailed off, feeling ridiculous because he was dangerously close to tears. “I really have to get to work,” he said, wanting to get out of there before he embarrassed himself by getting visibly upset. 

Sam felt silly for even being this thrown off, but he really didn’t want to spend his anniversary partying with a bunch of strangers. Riley’s birthday, their anniversary, and the date he died — Sam always took those days off work. He liked to be alone and fill the hours celebrating his late husband. Sometimes he visited their favorite places, or watched one of their favorite movies. Sometimes he went and took flowers and lunch to Riley’s grave, and spent hours just talking to him and filling him in on everything he’d missed. 

There were other times when he spent those days entirely at home, curled up and crying, thinking about all the things that could’ve been if Riley were still with him. But, regardless of how he spent the time, he liked to spend it alone. Attending a party, even a party whose existence he was partially responsible for, was something he just did not want to do. But he didn’t see how he could get out of it gracefully, and that’s why he was so upset. 

“We can talk about it later, okay? Bye,” he said, before walking out the door as fast as he could without outright sprinting.

As soon as Sam was gone, Bucky turned to face Steve, looking downright irate. 

“You really didn’t remember the date of their anniversary?” He asked skeptically. 

Bucky had known the man for well over twenty years, and in that time Steve had never forgotten a single slight, insult, or debt. And he’d sure as hell never failed to recall an important appointment. Remembering details, even the small ones, hell, _especially_ the small ones, was a large part of what made him so good at what he did. So, no, Bucky didn’t buy for one second that Steve had misremembered anything that important that had to do with Sam.

“Come on, you know me better than that,” Steve said, confirming his suspicions. “Your party had to be on the 22nd though, that’s literally the only night everyone is free.”

“What?” Bucky asked, genuinely confused. “No it isn’t.”

“Well, sure,” Steve answered, laughing. “But that’s what I’m gonna tell Sam when I talk to him later.”

Bucky just stared at Steve a moment, an internal battle raging over how he should respond. But, in the end, his good sense did _not_ win out.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He said, his tone managing to be both accusing and condemning at the same time. “Your boyfriend just practically ran out of here, looking about five seconds away from crying, and you’re standing here laughing about it?”

“Christ,” Steve said, his own hackles beginning to rise. “You know, when you went to the can, I knew they were takin’ your freedom, but I had no idea they’d be takin’ your balls too.”

“What?”

“Ever since you got out, it’s ‘that’s messed up, Steve’ and ‘what’s wrong with you, Steve’... I thought you were serving time, not going to sensitivity training. I mean, you never used to question me like this. Before you never would’ve given a damn about any of this; you’d have been laughing right along with me.”

”And old you never used to go out of your way to hurt someone you claim to love,” Bucky said, shrugging. “And yet here we are.” 

Yes, Steve had always been a manipulative bastard, but this new bit of information was just too much for Bucky to comprehend. Missing dates and even the constant lying he could understand to some extent even if he didn’t agree with it, but Steve purposely scheduling this party for the same day as Sam’s anniversary when he had to have known that it would cause Sam distress just seemed like he was being mean for no reason — hurting Sam just because he could.

“I’m not hurting him, I’m helping him,” Steve snapped, clearly indignant at Bucky’s accusation that he’d ever hurt Sam. “This party will be good for him. You want him sitting around his apartment alone, clutching a photo of his dead husband, crying and shit all night? Who knows what depressing crap he had planned. At least this way he’ll be distracted and having fun.”

“Yeah,” he scoffed, “I’m sure he’ll have a fucking blast.”

Steve stopped leaning against the bar, straightened up to his full six feet two inches, crossed his arms, and sneered down at his best friend.

“Well, whether he does or doesn’t really isn’t any of your concern though, now is it?”

“Whatever man,” Bucky said after a moment, deflating a bit. 

Because what could he say to that? Steve was right — it wasn’t any of his business, not really anyway. What was fighting Steve on this really going to accomplish? He knew his friend, knew Steve would never back down. It wasn’t like he’d ever be able to get him to change the date of the party. The only thing running to Sam’s defense like this was likely to accomplish was getting Steve to start wondering why Bucky even cared about how Sam felt in the first place.

“No, not whatever, what’s with this knight in shining armor bullshit? This isn’t the first time you’ve told me how I’m doing Sam wrong, and I wanna know why.”

“Look, I like the guy,” he said shrugging again. “I don’t want to see him get hurt.”

Which was definitely true.

“You found a good one, Rogers. I just don’t want you to lose him cause you don’t know when to quit being a manipulative prick.”

Which was definitely a lie. But he had to find a way to reframe his outburst somehow.

“And that’s all it is? You’re just worried for my relationship?”

“What the hell else would it be?” Bucky asked blankly, bluffing for all he was worth.

Steve eyed Bucky suspiciously, but Bucky’s steady gaze gave away nothing except a genuine air of confusion. 

After scrutinizing him for a moment longer, Steve almost had to laugh at himself, because really, what had he expected to see? Sure, just now and the other day in his office, and even when he’d walked into Sam’s place the other night, if he hadn’t known better he might’ve thought Bucky was a little too interested in Sam. 

But this was his best friend with whom he’d been inseparable since they were kids playing in the schoolyard. From childish pranks to their first real crime, from his mom first getting sick to his mom passing away — Bucky had been right by his side through everything. Always having his back, always loyal as hell, and always wanting the best for him.

Steve couldn’t believe he’d ever doubted his motivations at all.

“Well next time just say so instead of jumping all down my throat, asshole,” he finally responded, grinning. “I know I’m new when it comes to this relationship shit, but believe me, I’ve got it handled. Sam’s not going anywhere.”

 _That’s what you think,_ Bucky thought to himself, even as he returned Steve’s grin and bumped his shoulder companionably.

“I mean, sure he was upset just now, but I’ll talk to him tonight and get it all sorted out. You’ll see, we’re fine. Sam’s gonna be fine.”

_Yeah, and I’ll make sure of it._

********

Sam seriously considered ignoring the knocking on his door. The last thing he was in the mood for was company. He and Steve had gone back and forth about it on the phone a couple of hours ago when Steve had called to explain about the mix up with the party. Sam had accepted his explanation, assured his boyfriend that they were fine, and then politely told Steve that he needed to be by himself that evening; that he needed to unwind and relax. It had taken quite a bit of convincing—Steve was a big believer that they should never spend the night alone if possible—but in the end he had agreed to give Sam some space for the evening.

And that was the silver lining Sam clung to as he went to answer the door: whoever was on the other side of it, at least it wouldn’t be Steve with another apology gift. Because even if Steve had chosen to disregard his request for some time alone, he wouldn’t be knocking. Steve hadn’t knocked once since the moment Sam had presented him with his own key. He usually dropped by whenever he wanted. So whoever was pounding so persistently at his door, it definitely wasn’t his boyfriend.

Sam half expected it to be his sister; she’d been checking up on him more than usual and he knew it was because of their conversation the other day. But you could’ve knocked him over with a feather when he opened his door to find Bucky, holding a pizza, and managing to look both nervous and worried at the same time.

“Bucky what—

“I just wanted to see how you were doing after this morning, and I thought you might be... hungry?” He said, voice going high at the end as if he were asking a question. “I,” he paused and took a deep breath, “wanted to know if you are okay. I _needed_ to know if you are okay.”

 _Am I okay?_ Well, he’d spent the past couple hours since he’d spoken to Steve, going over their conversation again and again in his mind, and he couldn’t help but feel like something was rotten in Denmark. 

The explanation made sense on the surface. Steve had gotten the date of his anniversary mixed up. Honest mistake, right? People forgot stuff like that all the time — it was literally a sitcom trope. Except Steve never forgot important dates, remembered almost obsessively any bit of information that was related to him, so forgetting his anniversary seemed... unlikely. 

Then when Sam had asked if the party could be moved to another date, Steve said the 22nd was the only day everyone was free. Which, okay, could be true, but just seemed far fetched. Because didn’t most of Steve’s friends work with him at the bar and auto shop, so wasn’t he at least partially responsible for their schedules? Couldn’t he help make sure they were free another day?

It wasn’t like Sam to feel so suspicious; he didn’t like being paranoid like this. But he just kept hearing Sarah’s voice in his head playing on a loop: _go with your gut. Go with your gut. Go with your gut._

And even though he couldn’t fathom why Steve would be lying about any of this — why he would be so determined to have this party on his anniversary. He couldn’t help the fact that his gut was telling him that something wasn’t right, that Steve was up to something, and that whatever it was wasn’t any good.

So, no, he definitely was not okay. But, it wasn’t like he could exactly say all that to Steve’s best friend. 

Instead, he sighed and said, “I suppose you better come on in.”

“So,” Sam said, walking straight towards his refrigerator while Bucky followed behind him awkwardly. “I’m guessing Steve told you why I kinda… freaked out earlier when he mentioned the date of your party, huh?”

Sam took two beers out and handed one to Bucky, forcing him to sit down the pizza. 

“Yeah, uhhh... he told me it would’ve been your anniversary.”

“It’s still my anniversary,” Sam corrected, softly. “It’s still the date we got married; that hasn’t changed just because one of us is dead now.” He added, before downing half his beer in one gulp.

“I know that,” Bucky replied quickly. “Sam, I know that, okay. And, God, I don’t know what exactly you’re feeling right now, but I know you’re hurting and that’s why I came over, to tell you there doesn’t even have to be a party.”

“What?” Sam said, beer halfway to his lips again.

“I’m coming back from County, not Gitmo. I didn’t ask for this party. I don’t need it, and I certainly don’t _want_ it. Not if it’s gonna hurt you.”

“No, Bucky, don’t do that.” He said, as he sat his beer down on the counter. “Don’t minimize what you went through. Jail, prison — surviving either one of them is no small thing. You made it home, and that’s always something to celebrate.”

Sam had a way of looking at you like not only were you the most important thing in the world, but like you were the only thing in the world. And between his open and honest gaze and the sheer earnestness of his voice, Bucky was flushing all over. He could only hope the effect that Sam’s words were having on him weren’t obvious.

“Besides,” Sam went on, seemingly oblivious to Bucky’s complete lack of chill. “At least part of the reason he’s throwing this party is because I made a comment about not having met his friends. So, I don’t see him canceling it.”

He sighed for probably the fiftieth time that day. “And I want to meet everyone, I do, but—

“Well then we’ll reschedule it, it doesn’t have to be on your anniversary.”

“Yes, it does. Steve already told me that’s the only day everybody is free.” _And why would he lie?_ Sam thought to himself, trying to chase the doubts from his mind.

“Sam—

“James, it’s fine,” he interrupted, somewhat harshly. “ _I’m_ fine, or, at least I will be. Sure, it’s not great, but I’ll deal with it. So, don’t worry about me, okay?” He asked, forcing himself to work up a smile for Bucky.

Don’t worry about him? All day, all he’d done was worry about Sam. Through his argument with Steve, through meetings, he hadn’t been able to get that hurt look on Sam’s face this morning out of his head all day. So, after sitting around making himself crazy with worry _and_ guilt, because he knew he could stop this party — hell, he could stop their whole toxic ass relationship if he could just bring himself to tell Sam the truth about everything, he’d decided to come see for himself how Sam was doing.

He figured checking up on Sam was the least he could do, because realistically he knew he was probably never going to sell out Steve. The guy may have been a rat bastard, but he was still his best friend.

“So, what’s with the pizza?” Sam asked, breaking Bucky out of his thoughts.

Bucky really wanted to call Sam out on his obvious attempt to change the subject, but underneath his trademark smile, Sam seemed tired and restless. And the last thing Bucky wanted to do was push Sam so hard that he got upset again, so he decided to let the matter drop.

“I just figured you might not feel like cooking tonight, so I took a chance,” he explained. “You didn’t already eat did you?”

Sam shook his head. Food had been the last thing on his mind; he hadn’t eaten all day. But now that the enticing aroma of baked bread, mozzarella cheese and oregano was right in front of him, he was practically starving.

“Oh good,” Bucky said, sighing as if he were relieved. “I’ll uhh leave you to it then.” 

“Huh?” Sam asked, confused.

“I just wanted to check on you, so umm I guess I can leave now.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “What? Am I supposed to eat a large pizza by myself?” 

Sure he’d wanted to be alone earlier, but now that Bucky was actually here, Sam was was wondering if it hadn’t so much been that he wanted to be away from everyone for the evening, but that he’d wanted a night away from Steve. 

“Besides,” he went on, “you’re still holding a full beer.”

“Yeah, but...”

“But what?”

_But now that I've seen that you’re okay and I’ve come down from my Sam-might-need-me panic, reality has set in. And, especially after our argument today, if Steve knew I was in your apartment, drinking with you, while you were in a tank top and a pair of grey sweatpants that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination, then he’d pitch a bitch._

Sam was still looking at him expectantly, so Bucky sighed and said, “look, Steve might not care that I came to check up on you; he might even be glad I did. But he’ll have quite a bit to say about me, or any guy, hanging out in your apartment with you drinking at,” he glanced at his watch, “9:35 at night.”

Sam knew Bucky was right. Steve could be outrageously jealous over the smallest stuff, and actually he was pretty sure that Steve wouldn’t consider him having company of the male persuasion to be a small thing at all, even if it was Bucky. Hell, after their conversation the other night, maybe especially since it was Bucky. 

But, oh well, he wanted to drink, he didn’t want to do it alone, and he wanted Bucky there. Steve might get to dictate party schedules, but he didn’t get to choose how Sam spent time with his friends; and at this point, wasn’t Bucky basically his friend?

“True. But I’m allowed to have friends though, right?” He asked with a smirk, echoing Bucky’s words from earlier that day. “If you want to go, then don’t let me stop you; but I could’ve sworn you were the same guy who was just asking me to hang out this morning.”

“Yeah, And you’re the same guy who was about to turn me down right before we got interrupted,” Bucky countered.

“Things change,” Sam said, blandly. “Now, do you want to leave, or do you want to take the food in the living room and pick something to watch while I grab us some plates and napkins?”

Instead of answering, Bucky simply gave him a slightly bemused smile, grabbed his beer and the pizza and headed into the other room.

****

Bucky had been staring too long. He knew he’d passed from curious to creepy about five minutes ago, but he just couldn’t help himself. When was he going to get the chance to see Sam like this — peaceful and completely unguarded. Maybe even more importantly, when would he have the chance to simply examine and memorize the beauty that was Sam Wilson without the other man knowing? So, yeah, while he knew it wasn’t entirely appropriate (or even a little bit appropriate) he took another minute to look his fill before getting up, deliberately noisily, so Sam would start to stir.

“Man,” Sam said, blinking his eyes open as he wiped a hand over his face. “How long was I out?”

“Not that long,” he lied. 

After a few beers, half the pizza, and almost four episodes of The Office, Sam had leaned back and fallen asleep.

“Some host I am,” Sam said, yawning. 

“It’s cool,” Bucky assured him. “You look like you needed the rest anyway.”

He had. Sam hadn’t been sleeping all that great since he’d spoken to his sister the other day. 

“Whew,” Sam said, fighting down another yawn. “Did you cover me up too?”

“You looked cold.” He shrugged, blushing. “It’s not a big deal.”

The cover itself wasn’t a big deal, but he was sure that Sam might think it was a big deal if he knew how Bucky had lingered over him for a moment, tucking the throw around him just so and brushing his hand across his cheek, before he remembered that it was complete weirdo behavior and sat back in his seat.

“Anyway, I should probably get going,” he said, standing up and grabbing his keys.

“You cool to drive home? 

“Yeah, Wilson.” He smirked. “Ain’t you noticed yet that I have a hollow leg?”

Sam rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. 

“If you say so.”

“See you later, man,” Bucky said, once he’d reached the door.

“Hey, Barnes,” Sam said, causing the other man to turn his head back. “911-0024.”

“Huh?” Bucky asked, raising his eyebrows.

“That’s my number,” he explained, looking almost shy. “Next time we hang out you should probably call me first, or, you could... you know, text me sometime if you want.”

“I want,” Bucky said with feeling, causing Sam’s eyes to widen. “I mean, I want to text you. I want to see you again.”

“Okay,” Sam said, drawing out the word. “Then use my number… whenever you want.”

Bucky was practically floating at that point, but he mustered every bit of control he had, and forced himself to simply grin at Sam. 

“Bye, Wilson.”

“See ya, Barnes,” he said. 

After Bucky had gone, Sam slept through a full night for the first time in days.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! Feedback is always appreciated 😊
> 
> Btw, in this fic, Sam and most of the other main characters were born in 1982. I know MCU Sam was born in 1978, but 1982 works better for me for this story lol.
> 
> Chapter title: Monica


	6. 5 Steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos!

It took a little time, but Sam had eventually reconciled himself to the fact that the party was going to take place on his anniversary. It wasn’t ideal, but before he’d gotten all the details, Sam had figured he could still spend most of the day as he usually did. 

Since Steve was throwing it and he literally owned a bar that seemed to serve as his home base of operations, Sam had initially assumed the party would be a cocktail type thing, taking place in the evening, which would give him the rest of the day to celebrate Riley.

He could’ve worked with that.

However, Steve soon let him know that he’d decided to have a cookout that was scheduled to run from 2pm until... and, okay, Sam grew up on cookouts. He usually _loved_ cookouts _._ The 4th of July, summer birthdays, funeral repasts — they were always celebrated with barbecues in his family. 

The problem was he’d never been to a cookout that didn’t last all damn day and well into the evening, and he had little hope that this one was going to be any different. Steve had pretty much told him it wasn’t going to be any different.

So, once again, Sam changed his expectations for his anniversary. 

When the day came, he woke up early, grabbed a coffee and some pastries from his favorite bakery, and headed straight to the cemetery. He went often, but typically his schedule only allowed shorter visits. However, on days like this anniversary, he’d spend quite a long time at the cemetery. But, because of the party, that was out. Sam knew he’d have to get home in time to take a nap and recharge himself before he went. 

He was determined to spend at least some time with the man who knew him best though.

When he first arrived, he took a moment to sit near Riley’s grave and eat his breakfast. It just felt good to be there. Sam didn’t know if it was the quiet or because being at the gravesite always made him feel close to his husband, even though he knew logically that Riley’s soul was long gone and up in heaven, but whatever it was, he felt such a profound sense of peace.

Eventually Sam pulled his work gloves and cleaning supplies out of the small duffel bag he’d brought along, and set about tidying up the area around Riley’s headstone. He visited plenty, but rarely did he have enough time to really dig in and clean the place up.

Once the maintenance was done, he spent a long time sitting back against the side of the headstone and catching Riley up on everything that had been going on lately. 

“You know,” Sam said, then had to pause to clear his throat because it was a little raw from having talked so much. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.”

He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Okay, I know _you_ know this wasn’t how it was supposed to be, but still... I’m thirty-eight years old. We were supposed to be home owners by now,” he paused, and sighed deeply, “be parents by now.”

“Instead you’re gone, and I’ve got a boyfriend I’m not even sure I can trust.” He shook his head. “I just... I wish things could be different. I wish you were still here. I wish we hadn’t waited to try to adopt or find a surrogate. I wish that I could talk to you just once so you could tell me what to do about Steve, or if I even need to do anything at all. You always did give the best advice.”

“God,” he scrubbed a hand over his face. “I feel lame asking, but can you give me a sign or something, baby? For old times sake. You told me,” he blew out a breath to steady himself, “you told me you wanted me to find someone, to be happy, and I have — _I am_... I guess?” He added, voice getting high at the end as if he were asking a question.

“Steve is good to me, he is,” Sam said, adamantly. “He’s made it clear that he wants to protect me, wants me to know I’m loved, wants this thing we have to go the distance.” He closed his eyes briefly and sighed again. “But sometimes lately, I get the feeling that something ain’t right, that our relationship is just a little off, and it’s making me nervous.”

“Plus, now there’s Bucky, who’s just...” he trailed off. “Well, you know; I’m sure you see,” he said, with feeling. “I just don’t know, Ri. It’s all so confusing. So, if you can use some of your angel juice,” he said, laughing softly, “to get me through this party and help sort out these doubts and worries floating through my head, I’d really appreciate it, baby.”

********

Sam had his game face on; he was ready. Well, as ready as he was gonna be anyway. He looked good — was wearing what he referred to as his almost-middle-aged Black man at a barbecue outfit: boat shoes (cause he wasn’t really old enough to pull off the brown leather sandals yet), navy khaki shorts (he wasn’t quite at the linen fit age yet either), and a navy and white striped shirt that was the perfect size to show off his muscles without being ridiculously tight. His mom had always said, “when you look good, you feel good,” and Sam had to admit that knowing he looked appealing always put a little extra bounce in his step. 

Sam also had a plan — his original plan from a few days ago when he’d assumed it was going to be an evening affair: he was going to make the best of it. He was going to show up at Steve's place, mingle and try his best to enjoy himself, and if it all got to be too much, if he started to feel melancholy, he’d simply leave. 

Grabbing his wallet and keys, and giving himself one last pep talk, Sam started to reach for his phone, just as he heard someone knocking.

When he answered the door and found Steve standing there, he was very surprised — Steve _never_ knocked these days, he always used his key.

But, apparently, even Steve’s no boundaries having self knew today was not the day for him to be walking in unannounced. 

“Steve,” he began, as the other man shouldered his way inside. “What are you doing here? I told you I was fine driving myself, that I _wanted_ to drive myself.”

“I know, but it’s already after three and you weren’t there, so I figured I ought to come check on you.”

Sam took a deep breath and centered himself, reaching for that endless supply of patience he’d been relying on lately before replying. 

“Steve, it’s a cookout. I didn’t think I needed to be there exactly when it started. I’m not the host, or the guest of honor.”

“You’re kinda the guest of honor, though,” Steve said, putting on his most winsome smile. “I told everyone you were gonna be there; they’re all excited to meet you.”

Well, it was more like they were all prepared to meet him, who knew if there was any actual excitement involved… maybe some curiosity though. 

“And I’m excited to meet them too.” _Although, I’d prefer this was happening literally any other day_. “But, that’s still no reason for you to come pick me up. You know this is kind of a rough day for me, so I might be moving a little slower than usual, but—

“That’s all the more reason for me to be here,” Steve said, interrupting. “You shouldn’t have to worry about anything today, not even driving yourself. I’ll bring you to my house, and take you home in the morning.”

“Huh?” Sam said, confused. In no way shape or form had he been planning to spend the night at Steve’s house tonight, and really, Sam thought that should’ve been obvious.

“You’re staying the night, right?” Steve asked, managing to look both perplexed and slightly upset. “I mean, why wouldn’t you be?”

_Because I told you last night that I was driving myself in case I wanted to leave before the party broke up._

_Because it’s my anniversary and maybe I want to spend at least the end of it by myself instead of with a group of strangers._

“Steve,” he began, planning to tell him to go home and he’d meet him there momentarily, but then he thought better of it and cut himself off abruptly. 

Honestly, what was the point? Steve was already over, they were going to the same place, and Sam knew his boyfriend well enough to know Steve would get all pissy if he flat out refused to ride with him. And in that moment, Sam simply did not have the extra energy required for an argument.

So, he put on a tight smile and said, “the ride sounds good, but I can’t make any promises about staying over.”

“But—

“Meet me halfway here, Steve; please?”

It looked like it took some effort, but Steve eventually nodded in agreement.

“Just let me get my phone and I’m ready,” he said, and walked over to the couch and picked up the device.

As soon as it was in hand, he saw Bucky’s name flash across the screen and felt his phone buzz, alerting him to a text message. And he gave his first genuine smile since Steve’s arrival. 

Bucky had been keeping up a steady chatter of texts and even a couple of calls since Sam had given the man his number. Even though their conversations never got too personal, Bucky had the uncanny ability to know just when he needed a little levity in his life.

 _You on your way yet? Once more unto the breach and all that lol j/k. It won’t be so bad, doll. And if it is I’ll be there to entertain you_ 😉 

Sam felt instantly better after reading the message, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he should be concerned about the warm and calming feelings he got whenever he received a text from Bucky.

Well, even if he wasn’t concerned about that, Steve sure seemed to be worried about whoever was putting a smile on Sam’s face; if the expression Steve suddenly wore was any indication.

“Who’s that?”

“Oh, it’s just Bucky.”

Steve’s eyebrows instantly shot up. “Bucky? _My_ Bucky?”

 _And there goes that sense of calm_.

“No,” Sam replied, sarcastically. “That other guy named Bucky who I know.”

“Sorry,” Steve said, sounding sheepish. “I just didn’t know you two talked — texted,” he stumbled out. “When did that start?”

Sam shrugged absently, while he sent Bucky a text letting him know he’d be there soon.

“I don’t know, a few days ago or so. Ever since he came over and hung out the other night after I got off work.”

“ _What_?” Steve asked, slightly sharper than he’d intended. 

“Yeah,” Sam said, looking up at Steve to see if his face matched his tone. “He brought a pizza over and we hung out for a while, had a few beers. Is that a problem?”

“Cause,” he went on before Steve could answer, “Bucky thought it might be a problem for you, but I told him I’m allowed to have friends.” He paused. “Was I wrong? I mean, he’s your best friend, and we’re all grown here, so this shouldn’t be an issue for you... right?”

Oh, Sam knew it was probably totally an issue for Steve, but he was going to try to bluff his way through this anyway. Sam liked Bucky — liked hanging out with him. He wasn’t about to hide their friendship or stop seeing Bucky; Steve would just have to deal.

“No, of course it’s not a problem,” Steve lied with ease. 

“It’s just kinda… unexpected.” He added, forcing a laugh. “I mean, what do you two even talk about?”

“The weather,” Sam deadpanned. “The stock market, how he wants to whisk me away.”

“Sam!”

“What?” Sam asked, matching Steve’s annoyed tone. “You’re not seriously about to interrogate me right now, are you?”

“No,” he replied, trying to force himself to sound normal again. “I was just… curious,” he explained, giving a shrug of his own. “It’s not like it matters.”

Except, it very much mattered to Steve; but he figured he’d broach the subject with Sam another time. He’d already gotten his way about the whole transportation thing, better to not push his luck just then when Sam was probably already on edge because of his anniversary.

“The whole texting thing just caught me by surprise is all, but I’m glad you two are getting close.”

“Me too,” Sam said, finally sending him a real smile. “He’s a good guy.”

“Yeah. Bucky’s the best.” 

_But, there aren’t going to be any more cozy late night hangouts with him or anybody else, I don’t care if he is my best friend_. 

Steve may have trusted Sam and Bucky more than anybody else on the planet, but he wasn’t about to go inviting any foxes into his hen house. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated!
> 
> Next up: Party. Drama. Tea.
> 
> Chapter title: Dru Hill


	7. If

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam meets some of Steve’s friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks you guys for all the comments and kudos! Y’all are awesome 😊

As soon as they’d gotten to Steve’s house, he had handed Sam a Mickey’s and a burnt hotdog (just how Sam liked them), deposited him onto a lawn chair, and went to relieve somebody named Clint from grill duty. 

Sam’s peace and quiet was short lived though. Not even two minutes later and a guy who introduced himself as Jarvis had occupied the seat next to his and started what felt like a game of twenty questions. The guy seemed alright enough, but his personality was definitely on the intense side. 

“So, Steve says you're a veteran; Air Force, right?” Jarvis took a sip of his beer. “How’d that happen?”

“I don’t know,” Sam replied with a shrug. “These recruiters show up at your high school, tell you you’re gonna make okay money and see the world. I’d always wanted to travel and learning to fly was right up my alley, so I thought why not. The year I signed up was one of the few times we weren’t actively engaged in war, so it seemed like the right decision at the time.”

“Yeah, but you had like a 3.8 GPA, all sorts of extra curriculars, and an athletic track record that wasn’t anything to sneeze at. I’m sure you could’ve had your pick of some decent schools.”

That was true. Sam had received quite a few acceptance letters, and even a couple of partial scholarship offers from D2 schools, but…

“How do you know about that?”

“Steve must’ve said something,” Jarvis said, gesturing dismissively. “I’m just saying, a lot of people join the military because school isn’t an option, but college definitely wasn’t off the table for you.”

Sam hoped he was controlling his facial expression, but he feared it was probably a lost cause. Because, see, he may very well have mentioned that he’d done well in school and he’d definitely told Steve he was no slouch on the football field, but for the life of him he couldn’t recall ever having mentioned his GPA. He couldn’t even fathom why it would’ve come up. So, it was a little trippy that this guy he’d never met seemed to know so much about how he was... in high school. 

Then, there was the fact that he wasn’t in love with Jarvis’ tone. The guy wasn’t saying anything overtly offensive, but it was a little off putting just the same.

“No, you’re right; college wasn’t off the table,” Sam said, hoping he didn’t sound annoyed. “But it’s not for everybody and I just didn’t feel like taking more classes right after finishing high school.”

“It’s a shame,” Jarvis remarked, almost offhandedly. “You probably only had a year or so in before the next war started.” He shook his head. “I bet you regret it.”

 _A little heavy for barbecue talk with a stranger?_ Sam thought, as he quirked an eyebrow.

“Well, that’s where I met the love of my life,” he said, a little tartly. “So, I don’t know if I’d say I actively regret joining in general.”

“You know,” Sam stood up and stretched a little. “I’m getting kinda stiff sitting here, so I think I’m gonna walk around a bit. It was nice meeting you,” he said, and then walked off without bothering to wait for a reply.

_Jesus. I certainly hope that wasn’t an example of how the whole afternoon’s gonna be._

********

An hour later, and Sam was feeling strangely on edge. Almost like he was at a never ending job interview, only somehow he was both the interviewer and the interviewee. Almost everyone he met so far was friendly, almost overly so, like they were trying to put their best foot forward and felt the best way to do that was to give him 75% of the truth, no matter what they happened to be talking about. 

It all just felt so fake and purposely so. Like Steve’s friends were a group of kids about to walk into a family party and their father had pulled them aside as soon as they reached the door and told them, “you better not embarrass me in there” or something. Their obvious fakeness coupled with the fact they were all oddly inquisitive about Sam’s past, was throwing him off kilter.

At least Sam had gotten to talk to Scott for the last few minutes. He was overly friendly (and nosy) like the rest, but in his case it actually seemed somewhat genuine.

“So, has Steve mentioned me? I bet he’s mentioned me,” Scott said, nodding. “I mean, I’m not the best, but I get the job done.”

 _What job?_ Sam wanted to ask, but he figured he’d be met with another non-answer, just like he had when he’d asked anyone else a semi-invasive question. So, instead, he asked something else.

“Wait — are you the same Scott who left a wrecked car abandoned in the middle of the road with Bucky?” Sam asked, chuckling a little. “That story was nuts.”

“Steve told you about that?” He asked, slightly surprised. Steve had told them not to share any stories where they’d broken the law, even a little. 

“Uhh no, actually Bucky did.” 

“Oh,” Scott said. 

Not exactly explicit permission from Steve, but still… if Bucky was telling that story, then Scott figured Steve must’ve loosened up a little about the strange rules he’d given them for interacting with Sam — _Bucky wouldn’t have told Sam otherwise, right?_

“Well, if you think that was crazy, I’ve got Steve and Bucky stories for days. Either of them ever tell you about the time when we were twenty-five or so and had to fight damn near a whole club cause Bucky’s jacket got lost in the coat check?”

“What?” Sam stuttered out a laugh. “No.”

“Okay,” Scott said, and began launching right into it. “So what you gotta understand is, we probably never should’ve been there in the first place. That place was... well, frankly it was trashy. Tony even swore he saw a mouse there once.”

“Stark?”

“Yeah, you met him already?”

_Unfortunately..._

“Yeah, Steve and I have had dinner with him and Pepper a few times.”

“Oh, well if you know Tony then you know how he can be. Who knows if he ever saw a mouse there; but to be fair, the place was definitely kinda nasty.” He laughed. “Tony didn’t even want us going that night. He complained the whole way there, kept saying we made too much money to be hanging out at that dive.”

“Did you?” Sam asked, curiously.

“Well, yeah, but we had _just_ started making money. Tony had _always_ had money, it’s thanks to him that we ever had the cash to really…” Scott cut himself off abruptly, and let out a not so subtle cough. 

“Anyway, yeah, he was right, but we were used to dives — we _liked_ dives. Plus, even though Steve pretty much agreed with Stark that we shouldn’t be hanging out there anymore, it’s like he couldn’t bring himself to flat out admit it—not if it meant openly agreeing with Tony.”

Sam smiled knowingly at that. He’d witnessed first hand just how much Steve and Tony liked to be on opposite sides even when it made no sense.

“So Tremors — that was the name of the place. I don’t even think it exists anymore, but it was awesome. It was a former roller skating rink in the ‘70s and somebody made it into a club. And, trashy though it may have been, their drinks were large and strong, the cover was always cheap, and they had the best DJ around. It was always packed, and there was always something crazy happening inside, but none of us ever had a bad time Tremors.”

“Wait — I think I remember hearing about it; was this the place off Prospect and Troy in Brooklyn?”

“Yeah,” Scott nodded. “That’s it. Did you ever go?”

“Nah I think I was pretty much overseas when it was a thing.” _Plus I’m pretty sure it’s where all the roughnecks hung out._

“Man, you missed out, cause it was truly something. Even that night, it was awesome... well, until the brawl anyway.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Sam said, dryly, while inside he couldn’t help but be slightly thrown off at how different they seemed to be from him, even back then. While they’d been fighting in a club, _over a freakin’ jacket,_ he’d most likely have been fighting for his life in a war. But, even if he hadn’t been, there’s no way he’d have gone to a club in his mid 20s where coat check fights were a thing. 

“So, you know how I told you we’d just started making real money?” Sam nodded. “Well one of the first really nice things Bucky bought was an expensive leather jacket.”

“Now, I don’t know shit about clothes. If it was up to me, I’d wear jeans and a tshirt everyday, maybe a button up from Target if I was feeling fancy; but I know that jacket was expensive as fuck. It was some fancy brand and he’d dropped a lot on it. So, anyway, like a genius he wears it in this hot ass club, even though we told him to leave it in Tony’s BMW. But Bucky was all ‘why, so that when someone lifts Stark’s showy car, they get my jacket too?’ and wore it inside.”

“Of course we’re not even inside twenty minutes before he’s going to check it cause he’s sweating like crazy. He gives the lady working the desk a big tip and asks her to watch his jacket, and she’s falling all over herself flirting with him, cause, well, you’ve met him, you know what he looks like,” Scott said with a laugh. 

Sam smiled a little at that. He knew personally how Bucky’s looks could cause a person’s brain to short circuit these days, so he could only imagine how good the guy probably looked in his club going days.

“So we go about our business. Tony even ends up getting a couple of VIP booths even though this place had like the saddest VIP area ever, but Stark just can’t _not_ throw his money around. It was fun though. We had bottles on the table, guys and girls are floating in and out, and Tony is chatting them up cause he can’t go out without picking somebody up,” he said, laughing. “A few more of our friends even showed up, so by the time it’s all said and done, there’s like six of us there.”

“Fast forward to the end of the night, I wouldn’t say any of us were drunk. I mean, we were definitely feeling it, but we weren’t like just messed up and lookin’ for a fight or anything,” Scott said, and began rooting around in his pockets for a cigarette.

“Anyway, we get to the coat check and the line is ridiculous, but we all wait in it with Bucky and do it without complaint, even though people in line are already pushing. When we finally get to the front, the poor lady working the desk looks all upset, on the brink of tears even,” he continued, cigarette now hanging out his mouth while he talked and attempted to light it at the same time.

“Bucky’s all, ‘what’s a matter, sugar?’ And she tells him that people must’ve hopped the desk and grabbed their own stuff while she was in the restroom cause her system is all messed up. She takes his ticket and disappears for probably ten minutes, so we already know something’s wrong. And people behind us are getting vocally impatient.”

Sam can already tell where this is going.

“When she finally comes back, she lets Bucky know she can’t find his jacket; somebody must’ve stolen it. For a split second, Bucky looked as mad as I’d ever seen him. But then his expression closed off, he shrugged, and said: ‘Okay. But I came with a thousand dollar jacket, so I’m leaving with whatever is the next best thing,’ and he hopped over the desk and started rifling through the coat rack.”

“Wait — none of you tried to stop him?” Sam asked, slightly incredulous that none of them would see anything wrong with their friend basically deciding to steal something cause he was angry.

“No. I mean, why would we?” Scott asked, looking genuinely confused. “He had a point. Come on; it was the principle of the thing.”

“Right,” Sam said, hoping he didn’t sound as sarcastic as he thought he did. 

“Anyway, a couple of minutes later, Bucky hops back over with another fancy looking jacket, that looks like it’s his style but definitely isn’t his, and says we can leave. But, by then, a lot of people in line had pretty much figured out what was going on, and somebody came charging straight at us, yelling that nobody better not touch their shit.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah, I don’t know if this was the jacket’s real owner or just somebody who was pissed at us, but the guy runs up like he’s gonna swing and Bucky knocks him straight on his ass,” Scott said, laughing like the whole thing was hilarious. “After that, all hell broke loose. We literally had to fight our way out the place. I didn’t do a damage assessment or anything, but I know some of those people must’ve had to leave in an ambulance.”

“Wow.” _So much for your friends being harmless_. 

“Yeah, it was pretty amazing,” Scott agreed, completely misinterpreting Sam’s tone. “I mean, Stark complained about it the whole way back to his place — blamed Steve for not listening to him when he said we should’ve gone somewhere else, blamed Bucky for throwing the first punch — but even he was grinning and laughing about it in the end. He just likes to argue with Steve; it’s like their thing or something.”

Sam couldn’t help but snort at that. “So their whole... vibe isn’t a new thing?”

“Stark and Steve have been fighting like cats and dogs since the moment they met. From the way they go on, you’d think they hate each other, but they’re way closer than they appear.”

“Really?” Sam said, skeptically. There were a couple of times during their little dinner parties when he’d been afraid they might actually come to blows.

“Oh, Stark’s an asshole alright,” Scott said, with a laugh. “But he’s a big part of the reason any of us are where we are right now. He was a lonely angry teenager who was loaded and looking for friends,” he explained. “And the rest as they say is history. Hell, he’s who gave Steve his first—

“Scott,” Natasha interrupted, popping up out of nowhere. “You’re hogging the guest of honor. I’m sure some other people want to come meet him.”

This wasn’t the first time Sam had spoken to Natasha that evening, or the first time he wondered whether she was trying to be funny. When they were introduced earlier, she’d alternated between looking amused and annoyed by his mere existence, and he had no idea why. But at that moment the placid look on her face gave away nothing.

“Isn’t Bucky the guest of honor?” He asked.

“Depends on who you ask,” she said cryptically, and then practically dragged Scott away.

Sam turned around hoping to at least get another drink before someone else came up to tell him another riddle, but he didn’t make it more than two steps before he was intercepted by Tony and a man he’d never met before.

“Well, if it isn’t Maverick himself,” Tony greeted, and Sam had to close his eyes briefly and take a deep breath, before he could force a smile onto his face.

“Or, wait, Iceman was the boring one, right? Guess that makes you Iceman,“ Tony went on, either not knowing or not caring about how he was being received by Sam. He even chuckled a bit at his own joke.

“You do know they were in the Navy and I was in the Air Force, right?”

Tony shrugged. “Yeah, I don’t care. Anywho, Clint, have you had the chance to meet Steve’s weeping widow yet? He’s kinda dull and all, but his ass looks like it was carved out of marble.”

“Jesus Christ,” Clint mumbled under his breath.

“Keep going, Stark. I fuckin’ dare you,” Bucky said, having walked up behind Sam.

Bucky had known Tony for years, which meant he knew as well as anyone that Tony’s favorite pastime was being a jackass for no reason. So, as soon as he’d seen Tony heading towards Sam, he started heading that way too. And, of course, he’d walked up just in time to hear Tony spouting his normal bullshit. The man thought he was hilarious, but he was usually about as funny as a heart attack.

“Barnes,” Tony said, seemingly unfazed by what had clearly been a threat. “Nice to see Steve’s guard dog is back and feral as ever.”

“What—

“Clint,” Sam said, while at the same time placing a calming hand on Bucky’s forearm. “Nice to meet you.”

Clint grimaced at Sam’s tone, which clearly said it hadn’t been nice at all. “I’m sorry about him.”

“Yeah, that makes two of us,” Sam responded, but sent a small smile in the man’s direction, before letting it drop completely when his gaze swiveled to Tony. 

“Stark, as always, it’s been… _something_ ,” he said, sarcastically, before catching Bucky’s eye and giving him an almost pleading look. “Bucky, let’s go find ourselves a drink. I think we both could use one.”

Bucky hesitated a second, wanting nothing more than to slap the smirk off Tony’s face, but he ended up following dutifully behind Sam.

“Thanks a lot man,” Clint said as soon as the other two were out of earshot.

“What?” Tony said, face the picture of innocence.

“You know what. Steve basically told us to treat Sam like a king, so the first thing you do is bring up the fact that he’s a widow and you managed to do it as mockingly as possible.”

He shook his head. “You may have a lifelong pass with Steve, but I’m gonna hear about this just because I was here when you said it.”

“Relax. Sam’s cool; he can take a joke, even if he doesn’t look like it. He’s not gonna go tattling to Steve.”

“Okay, maybe _he_ won’t, but you did see Bucky, right? He didn’t look amused, like at all. Even if Sam doesn’t tell Steve, you know Bucky will. Those two don’t keep secrets from each other, even small ones.”

“Who knows,” Tony replied, sending a speculative glance in Sam and Bucky’s direction. “Maybe they do.”

****

“I swear, I’ve never met a guy who needed his ass kicked as badly as Stark does,” Bucky grumbled out as they made their way to the makeshift bar.

Sam couldn’t help but silently agree, but out loud he said, “Hmm I don’t know, maybe you just like to throw down.”

“Who me?” Bucky clutched his chest dramatically. “I’m a lover not a fighter,” he said, sending Sam a wink.

But Sam soldiered on as if he wasn’t blushing at the clear invitation in Bucky’s tone.

“So, you _aren’t_ the guy who started a brawl over a lost jacket?”

“Well, yeah,” he admitted, grabbing a couple of beers and handing one to Sam. “But that was the old me. I’ve been inside since then. I’m reformed now, sweetheart.”

“Sure you are,” Sam said, chuckling, but he stopped when he noticed that Bucky’s expression had suddenly turned serious.

“No, for real,” he said. “I’m not gonna lie to you, Sam. My temper can be quick — it always has been, probably always will be. It wouldn’t be wrong to call me dangerous,” he went on, honestly. 

“But I’d never get in a physical fight over something so small and petty nowadays. It’d have to be over something important, like my business or my family,” he paused, gave Sam a significant look, and added, “or a new friend who means an awful lot to me.”

Sam couldn’t help the gooey feeling that overcame him at Bucky’s words, but before he could even fathom how to respond to that... declaration (because honestly, what else could he call it), Steve came walking up.

“I swear, whenever I find you two together, you’re whispering and looking all serious. If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were talking about me,” Steve joked.

A tiny hysterical burst of laughter made its way out of Sam’s throat. Steve had literally been the farthest thing from his mind a moment ago... which was slightly troubling, if he were being honest.

“Nah,” Sam said, recovering quickly and leaning into Steve. “I was just asking Barnes here if he still gets into fights at clubs now that he’s practically an old man.”

“We’re the same age, Wilson,” he said, playing along. 

“I just wear it so much better,” Sam shot back with a grin.

Steve smiled along too, even though he had the distinct feeling they weren’t being entirely truthful. Their explanations, right then and the other day when Sam brought him his phone at the bar, didn’t quite explain why both times he’d caught them talking it’d looked like the last scene in a soap opera before a commercial break.

“Well, I hate to break this up, but I want you to meet Tony’s friend, Rhodey. He was in the Air Force too,” Steve said, already putting his arm around Sam to lead him away.

“Sure. See you later,” he said, nodding in Bucky’s direction.

“Yeah, later man,” Bucky replied, even while he was internally cursing Steve for his interruption.

Maybe Steve really did want Sam to meet Rhodes, but Bucky suspected he was actually just eager to get Sam’s attention away from Bucky and back on himself.

“You know,” Natasha said thoughtfully, a moment later as she came up behind him gnawing on a shrimp kabob. “When I told you he belonged to Steve, I thought it was obvious that I meant he was off fuckin’ limits.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he responded, turning to face her.

She snorted. “Yeah, right. Just do me a favor okay. If you’re gonna pine after Sam, can you at least not do it so openly?”

“Huh?” He said, eyes narrowed.

“Fix your face!” She snapped, and slapped him on the back of the head. “I mean, I’ve played poker with you before, so I know you can do better than this.”

When he continued to give her a puzzled look, she sighed and said:

“Since Sam got here, you’ve either been staring at him or glaring at whoever’s been talking to him—

“I only glared at Stark,” he interrupted. “And, believe me, he had it coming.”

“Please, I thought you were gonna _attack_ Tony before Sam dragged you away. What happened — did he insult the gentleman’s honor?” She asked, mockingly.

“Shut up, Tasha.”

“And why were you glaring holes in Jarvis’ head earlier?” She asked, ignoring him.

“I could tell he was making Sam uncomfortable.”

She rolled her eyes. “Jarvis makes everyone uncomfortable. Doesn’t change the fact that you seriously need to chill.”

When he didn’t respond to that, and just continued to stare her down, she took a deep breath and said, “Look, I’m not trying to discourage you or anything, even if I do think it’s dumb as hell to do what you’re clearly at least thinking about doing. All I’m saying is, if you’re gonna do it, be smart about it.”

“I may be the only one whose noticed so far,” she continued, “but that won’t remain the case if you keep on acting like this.”

“Tasha, I still don’t know what you’re getting at,” he said, blankly, and gave a shrug. “But thanks for the advice… I guess.”

“Whatever, Barnes,” she said, before shaking her head and walking away.

 _Shit,_ Bucky thought, as he finally took a sip of his now lukewarm beer. He might not have been willing to admit it to Natasha, but he could certainly admit it to himself — she’d gotten him a little worried.

See, he really wasn’t sure if she’d guessed that he was still into Sam — was basically _pursuing_ Sam — because she was Natasha and she always noticed stuff, especially the things other people tried to hide, or if she’d noticed because he was being just that damn obvious.

He knew being around Sam made his defenses come come down, made him happier and more genuinely affectionate than he typically was.

Which in turn made him more careless.

So, yeah, there was a pretty good chance that he’d been standing around openly mooning at the guy. 

_If I were smart, I’d just steer clear of Sam for the rest of the day,_ Bucky thought to himself then almost laughed out loud.

There was no way in hell that was ever gonna happen. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated!!
> 
> Next up: The party continues and things get heated between Sam and Steve.
> 
> Chapter title: Janet Jackson


	8. Get It Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party continues and things get heated between Sam and Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos 😊

Rhodey was cool and all, certainly a lot more personable than his friend Tony. And maybe under different circumstances, Sam would’ve wanted to chat a little longer and exchange old war stories. However, at that moment, more than anything else, he just wanted to be alone. 

So as soon as he could do it without appearing rude, Sam excused himself from their little group and wandered into the house under the guise of using the bathroom, and instead went into Steve’s bedroom.

 _Is this my sign, Riley?_ he thought, as he flopped down onto Steve’s bed and stared up at the ceiling. _The party — these people?_

The tight lipped bunch may not have thought they’d given away much, but Sam certainly knew more than he had before. He knew they were the kind of people who thought starting a fight where folks ended up in the hospital over nothing wasn’t a big deal, and was even funny. And, yeah, okay he got that they were younger and probably less mature when that happened, but he couldn’t recall a time in his own life when he’d ever thought some innocent person getting hurt was something to laugh about. 

He wasn’t going to write them all off over an incident that happened more than ten years ago, but it was certainly something to file away to think about later. And frankly, it didn’t lend much weight to Steve’s whole “my friends are harmless” line from the other night.

Then there was what Scott had said about Tony and Steve, or rather Tony’s money and Steve. It seemed like he’d started to go into detail about how Tony had helped Steve and just how their businesses were intermingled — which was odd because Steve had told him Tony was a friend, someone he met in school. Steve had never once mentioned the other man being involved in how he made his money, but he hadn’t said Tony _wasn’t_ involved either. 

Sam hadn’t exactly caught Steve in a lie, but he couldn’t help but wonder if his boyfriend was still hiding details about what he really did for a living.

_And if he is… Is what he’s keeping from me only business related, or are there other things too?_

Sam’s thoughts had already been a mess, and this gathering was doing nothing to alleviate his stress. Even if he didn’t want it to be on his anniversary, Sam had thought this party might at least put him at ease a little. He would finally get to meet Steve’s friends, put names to faces, and then he’d feel like he knew Steve better.

In reality, all the party had done was serve to reawaken the old suspicions Sam had about what Steve did for a living back when he’d thought Steve wasn’t being completely truthful about what he did at the bar. Back before he knew Steve actually owned it.

 _Steve could be gaslighting me about my behavior and flat out lying about how he makes his money,_ Sam thought, shivering involuntarily. 

_Or, I could be making this all out to be way more important than it is…_ _Maybe Tony just gave him start-up money for the bar or the shop… There’s nothing sinister or suspect about that._

Then, on the other side of the same confusing coin, stood Bucky: a relative stranger whom he felt drawn to for some inexplicable reason. 

_Well, not really a stranger anymore…_

_And the reason I feel drawn to him isn’t entirely inexplicable either,_ Sam could admit to himself. _He’s fun, he’s sweet to me, and it doesn’t hurt that he’s easy on the eyes._

_And he cares about me…_

Almost on cue, Bucky walked into the room and leaned against the doorway.

“I thought it’d be at least a few more weeks before I was able to get you into a bedroom.”

“Hmm,” Sam said, raising himself into a sitting position. “Guess it’s your lucky day.”

Bucky eyes widened in shock even as a slow grin spread across his face. “Seriously?”

Sam laughed. “No, not seriously. But I had you going there for a minute, didn’t I?”

“Doll, you have no idea,” he answered, stepping further into the room. “So, are you gonna tell me why you’re hiding?”

“I’m not hiding.” He shrugged. “I just needed to take a breather.”

“Oh, ummm... I can go then, if you want.”

“No, it’s fine. I guess I oughta head out again anyway. Once more unto the breach and all that,” he said, with a dry smile, echoing Bucky’s text from earlier. 

“Come on,” he stood up and headed for the door, “you can walk me out.”

“Sam, wait,” Bucky said, grabbing his arm as he moved to walk past. “You don’t have to go out there.”

“Huh?”

“I mean,” Bucky went on. “It’s your day, your anniversary. You came, you showed your face, now you can go do something you want to do. Or you can do nothing at all.” He shrugged. “But you should be somewhere celebrating Riley, not here feeling like you’re about to march into battle.”

Sam’s emotions were a rollercoaster. His eyes started getting misty, and all because Bucky was trying so hard to put his feelings first.

“You know how we’d end every anniversary?”

Bucky waggled his eyebrows, causing Sam to smack him on the shoulder. 

“God, you perv. I’m trying to share with you here.”

“Sorry.”

“Anyway, every year we’d end the night watching _Predator_ , the original one. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea, I know, but we both had a thing for 80’s action flicks and that was our favorite. So, no matter what, even if we were so tired we knew we’d fall asleep ten minutes into it, we always curled up, poured some wine, and watched _Predator_.”

Bucky’s smile was genuine when he said, “that sounds nice.”

“It was,” Sam said, smiling back. “And even though he’s gone now, some years if I’m feeling up to it, I’ll watch it by myself. I thought I might this year, but Steve wants me to spend the night— 

“Who cares what Steve wants,” Bucky interrupted. “Mingle a little more if you think you gotta, but then go home. I’ll even drive the getaway car if you need me to,” he added, with a wink.

“We’ll see,” Sam said, but he was seriously considering it. 

Bucky nodded and started to leave the room, but this time it was Sam who pulled him back.

“Hey, James,” Sam said, grasping his hand briefly, but tightly. “Thank you.” And then walked out the room.

****

Twenty more minutes back in the fray, ten of which were spent watching Natasha and Clint engage in some sort of knife throwing contest, and Sam decided he was definitely taking Bucky’s advice. To put it mildly, he was all partied out. So, he made his way around, exchanged the most basic pleasantries he could, and then saddled up to Steve’s side.

“Hey, babe,” Steve said, reaching for him instinctively. “Scott was just saying we should start a fire.”

“I bought marshmallows,” Scott added, excitedly, causing Sam to smile.

“That sounds nice, but I think I’m gonna head out in a few.”

“What?”

“What?” Sam echoed back, shrugging. “If you’re worried about having to leave, don’t be. I’ll just order an Uber.” 

_Lord knows it won’t be the first time,_ he thought meanly. _Besides if you hadn’t insisted on driving me, this wouldn’t be an issue._

“Don’t be silly,” Steve said. “I’ll take you home in the morning. We talked about this earlier, remember?”

Sam cocked an eyebrow at him in disbelief. 

“Yeah, I remember. Do you remember? Cause I’m pretty sure I said I might not be staying over.”

“What’s the problem?” Steve asked, looking a little perplexed. “Are you not having fun or something?”

“I’m having fun.”

A stretching of the truth if ever there was one.

“But it’s been a long day,” he continued, giving Steve a meaningful glance. “And I’m just ready to be at home. But I’ll call you first thing tomorrow, okay?”

“Or,” Steve began, tone downright sarcastic, “you can just stay the night like you usually do and talk to me _in_ _person_ tomorrow morning.”

“Or, I can go home and at least end the night the way I want too,” Sam snapped back quietly, mindful of the fact that Scott could hear their conversation. 

“Listen,” Sam sighed, “I don’t want to argue with you. I get that you were hoping I’d spend the night, but I’m flat out telling you that I’m not up for it.”

Sam pulled out his phone, presumably to order an Uber, and Steve completely forgot himself for a moment and snatched the phone out of Sam’s hand. 

Scott cleared his throat, mumbled nonsensically about having to take care of something, and quickly left them, but Sam was so taken aback that he barely noticed.

“Give me my phone, Steve,” he said through clenched teeth. 

“No. Not until we’re done talking about this.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Bucky take a step in their direction, an unmistakable look of concern clouding the man’s features, and he gave the tiniest shake of his head. Sam was sure that Bucky coming over was the last thing they needed right then.

Apparently he wasn’t subtle enough though, because Steve saw it and turned around just in time to see Bucky send Sam a tiny nod in return.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.” He laughed harshly. “The fuck is even goin’ on right now?” He asked, no longer attempting to keep his voice down. 

“Steve,” Sam said flatly, still refusing to raise his voice and make what was turning out to be a terribly embarrassing situation even worse. He could see people beginning to notice what was going on, and the last thing he was wanted to do was put on a show for Steve’s weird ass friends.

“You wanna talk? Let’s talk. But not out here.”

“Fine. Come on,” he said, grabbing Sam’s hand and pulling him along into the house.

As soon as they were inside, Sam snatched his hand back and folded his arms across his chest.

“So, are you drunk or have you just lost your mind?”

“What—

“I mean,” Sam said, cutting him off. “It’s gotta be one of those two things. Why else would you think you can snatch my phone and talk to me like that?”

Steve sighed, and handed him his phone. “I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have raised my voice to you and taking your phone was out of line, but you weren’t listening to me.”

“No, _you_ weren’t listening to _me_ ,” Sam countered. “In fact, you haven’t been listening to me all day. I told you I’m not spending the night, and I meant it.” He shook his head, clearly outdone. “Why is this even such a big deal for you?”

“Because,” he snapped. “This — _all of this_ is for you! Yeah, it’s a celebration for Bucky, but the party was really for you and you know it. You’re the reason I’m even throwing it in the first place.” He scoffed. “But you didn’t even try to come on time, and now you want to leave laughably early? And why,” he fairly spat, eyes narrowed, “so you can go home and cry over Riley some more?”

A choked sound escaped Sam’s throat; he couldn’t even even bring himself to form an immediate response.

 _Oh God,_ Steve thought as he took in the look on Sam’s face. _Maybe I am a little drunk?_

Because this was truly about as blunt as he’d ever been with Sam… and as mean.

“He’s gone,” Steve went on, lowering his voice and trying to soften his words. “But I’m right here. And I’m asking you to stay.”

“And I’m telling you no,” Sam replied, sternly. “I’m telling you that I want to go home, be alone, and celebrate my marriage. It’s my anniversary for God’s sake.”

“Not that long ago, you were telling me that you knew my anniversary was coming up and that you were worried about me — worried that I’d be upset, worried that I’d been behaving oddly. But, here we are on the actual day, and you’re the one flipping out,” he accused. 

“I miss Riley, but I’m okay, Steve. I. Am. Okay. And I want to go celebrate my late husband, not cry over him as you so kindly assumed. And you want to yell at me about it?”

“I want to take care of you,” Steve said, pleadingly. “I think staying here tonight, having fun, making new friends, being distracted, would be best for you and your mental health,” he added, and the wild part was, he wasn’t even lying. In Steve’s opinion, pretending Riley never existed would be the best thing for Sam. 

Sam sighed so heavily, his whole body almost shook with it, and it certainly didn’t help that his head was spinning by this point.

“Steve, I…”

_I don’t need you to take care of me._

_I don’t get how another widower could have this type of reaction. Sometimes I’d swear you have no idea what it’s even like to be married._

_I don’t like arguing with you, but we seem to be doing it more and more lately._

_I should’ve taken Bucky up on his offer for a getaway car._

“I... I need to go home,” he finally managed to get out. “So, I’m gonna walk outside now and order a ride and I need you to not follow me. We can talk tomorrow, but right now I’m done.”

There was no doubt that Sam was serious and the finality in his tone did more to sober Steve up than a thousand cups of coffee could have.

“Done?” Steve repeated, and he could’ve sworn he felt his heart clench. “Done like _done_ done?”

Sam wanted to roll his eyes, but he knew it wasn’t the time.

“No, done like I’m done going back and forth about this. I’m not breaking up with you.” 

_At least not yet anyway,_ his brain went on automatically. And he was so taken aback by the thought that he leaned in to give Steve a kiss on the cheek, purely out of guilt.

“Sam, I’m sorry,” Steve said, taking the opportunity of Sam getting close to wrap him up in a crushing hug. “I’m sorry the party had to be today, I’m sorry for being a dick, I’m just plain sorry.”

And he was. Steve had told himself to be cool, to go easy, but it was like he just couldn’t help himself, especially when he thought he was doing what was best for Sam.

“I know,” Sam said tiredly, and he briefly returned the hug before stepping away. “Goodbye, Steve.”

 _Well, I don’t like the sound of that. “_ I’ll call you tomorrow,” Steve promised, as he watched Sam head out the front door, but Sam didn’t even acknowledge he’d heard him.

“Fuck!” He shouted, and picked up the first thing he saw — a ridiculously expensive vase — and threw it against the wall.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. _It’s okay,_ he thought. _It’ll be okay. I’ll think of something to make it right. He was fine. We’ll be fine._

He’d make sure of it.

****

“Look,”

Sam folded his arms over his chest, letting his true feelings show on his face. Frankly, at that point he didn’t care if he looked rude. All he wanted to do was order an Uber and get the hell out of there, but he wasn’t even outside two minutes before he had to deal with someone — and it wasn’t even one of the ones who had been friendly.

“No, you look, Natasha,” he said, and she actually blinked. 

_Hmm maybe she isn’t so unflappable after all_. 

“I’m tired. I want to go home. And, I’m sorry if I’m being impolite, but I really don’t feel like talking right now.”

“Okay,” she shrugged, “so then just listen.”

He sighed, but short of telling her to go the hell away what else could he say?

“Bucky’s gonna come out here in a few minutes.”

“What—

She held up a hand to stave off his interruption, and kept right on going.

“I could come outside now, cause, well, I’m me. Nobody was gonna notice me leave if I didn’t want them to. But at least a couple of people were paying attention to Bucky.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up at that, but Natasha kept right on going.

“See, he has to wait a couple of minutes to slip out so that he can be at least a little subtle about it. And, when he does, he’s gonna offer you a ride. Do the both of you a favor and just take it, okay?”

“I don’t know what you’re implying—“

“I’m not implying anything,” she interrupted. “I’m just sayin’, cancel the Uber, Wilson. We both know Bucky was never gonna let you leave like this,” she said, once again wearing a knowing smirk.

And, just like she’d conjured him up, there was Bucky walking up to them.

“Hey, Sam,” he greeted, sounding nervous. “You weren’t trying to get out of here without saying goodbye, were you?”

“Lord,” Natasha mumbled under her breath, and stifled the impulse to roll her eyes at the pair of them. “I guess that’s my cue. Goodnight gentlemen,” she said, then headed back into the house.

“Hey, James,” Sam said, and worked up a small smile for the other man. “How about that ride?”

****

The car ride had been largely silent. Bucky was practically dying to ask Sam about his argument with Steve, but it’d been clear from the look on Sam’s face that he was content to sit in the passenger seat and stew in his own juices, so Bucky had left him to it.

Stewing in his own juices was an appropriate assumption on Bucky’s part, because Sam just couldn’t get over Steve having the nerve to take his phone, even if it was only for a minute. 

But, despite his current mood and the fact that the last thing Sam wanted was company, a lifetime of having good manners drilled into his head by his parents, had him inviting Bucky up anyway when they arrived at his building.

“Hey, do you want to come up for a few? We could have a drink or something.”

Bucky shook his head. “You really are too nice for your own good. You know that right?” He asked, chuckling lightly. “Go pour some wine and watch your movie, sweetheart.”

Sam stared at him a moment and then gave him a tiny smile. “You’re a good guy, James,” he said, sincerely. “Thanks for the ride. I owe you one.”

Not for the first time, one small smile from Sam had Bucky throwing all caution to the wind. Before he could even think about how this was probably the most inappropriate time to ask, he said: 

“Hang out with me — just the two of us — the next time you have the evening off, and we’ll call it even.”

Sam bit his lip and looked down, avoiding the intensity of Bucky’s gaze. He wanted to say yes, but something about agreeing to hang out alone with Bucky at this moment seemed… significant. 

Maybe it was because he was pissed at Steve and Bucky knew it. Maybe it was because Bucky had told him that he cared about him just a little while earlier. Maybe it was because Bucky had been so ready to come to his defense.

Whatever the reason, it felt like something had shifted between them that afternoon. It was hard for Sam to explain it even to himself. He had already felt like they were becoming friends, but now it just felt like more… 

And, that feeling definitely gave him pause...

“Sammy,” Bucky said, into the tense silence that had set in. “It’s okay, if you—

“It wouldn’t be a date,” Sam blurted out, looking back up at him.

“Of course not,” Bucky agreed, trying not to smile at the sweetly nervous look on Sam’s face. “But are you gonna tell Steve?” 

Bucky had debated whether he should ask, but he needed to know how to play this with his best friend.

“Well, yeah,” Sam replied, looking puzzled.

“I figured you would.” Bucky assured him. “You know he might have something to say about it though.”

 _After the way he talked to me today, he better not have shit to say about anything I do,_ Sam thought angrily, but his expression was back to being neutral when he responded. 

“He’ll be fine. I just don’t want it to seem like we’re keeping secrets.” 

_Even if it seems like he is._

Bucky almost laughed. They could send Steve a certified letter saying they were spending time together and he still wouldn’t be fine with it. His problem wasn’t going to be with whether he was being kept in the loop. His problem was going to be that another man was spending time alone with Sam. Period. 

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

Sam rolled his eyes at the clear sarcasm in Bucky’s voice. Okay, so he knew Steve wasn’t going to be fine with it. That much was obvious from the way he’d reacted to the texting and finding out Bucky had been to his apartment the other night. Steve had tried to hide his feelings about it and Sam had bluffed right along with him.

And that’s just what Sam planned to keep on doing. 

Besides, Sam had dealt with that shitshow of a party. Surely, Steve could deal with him having a friend. Even if that friend was a handsome, engaging, little shit like Bucky. 

“Wipe the smirk off your face and just take the win, Barnes; before I change my mind.”

Sam got out of the car, shut the door, and then leaned down to speak through the open window. “I’ll text you tomorrow and let you know what my schedule’s lookin’ like, okay? See ya later, man,” he said, then gave a little wave and walked up to his building.

Bucky stayed long enough to make sure Sam got inside okay, and then sped off down the street, a great big shit-eating grin on his face. This wasn’t going to be some Hail Mary last minute visit. Nope. No matter what Sam chose to call it, his crush had just basically agreed to go out with him. 

So, yeah, he’d take the win alright. 

****

Everybody had been making sure to give Steve a pretty wide berth when he finally made his way back outside. They all knew better than to get in his face when he was in one of his moods.

Well, all except Tony that is. He just couldn’t help himself. One of his favorite pastimes was winding Steve up just for the hell of it. It was always so amusing when Steve turned that perfect shade of reddish-purple and started going off about whatever had him so bothered.

So, as much as he knew that messing with Steve when he was already pissed could be bad for his health, after a while Tony simply couldn’t resist.

“What’s a matter, Rogers?” Tony asked, after sauntering over to where Steve was poking at the fire pit. “Did you lose your boyfriend?”

“Sam went home,” Steve replied, tone clipped, without bothering to look up from what he was doing.

“Yeah,” Tony snorted, “I know. In fact, I’m pretty sure _everyone_ here knows.” He tossed back some of the bourbon in his glass. “I meant, did you actually _lose_ your boyfriend?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asked, lifting his gaze to meet Tony’s.

”Sam’s gone. Bucky’s noticeably absent too.” He shrugged. “I caught them looking pretty chummy a couple of times tonight…” he trailed off, and raised his eyebrows suggestively. “I’m just saying, maybe your boyfriend isn’t gonna be your boyfriend very much longer.” 

“Keep talkin’ like that and maybe you won’t be standing very much longer,” Steve said, taking a menacing step in the other man’s direction.

“Fine. I’m finished.” Tony held up his hands in surrender. “But we both know I’m not really the one you’re mad at,” he added, before walking off.

“What was that about?” Natasha asked, as she came to stand beside Steve and watch Tony slink away like the snake he was.

She’d heard their whole exchange though. And even though she kept telling herself not to get involved, she couldn’t just sit back and watch Stark of all people start some shit between her two oldest friends just for the hell of it. 

Steve shook his head before he answered. “Just Stark being Stark. Trying to imply that Sam and Bucky are messing around or something,” he said, and tried to sound like he wasn’t buying it, but Natasha has known him long enough to tell that he kind of was.

_God Bucky is gonna owe me so bad._

She snorted. “Tony’s one to talk. He was practically waxing poetic about Sam’s ass earlier.”

“What?!”

“Yup. And he said something not so nice to Sam… I’m not sure exactly what, but since you were busy Bucky stepped in and put a stop to it.”

Now, she didn’t know if Steve had been busy at that moment or not; but better to make it sound like Bucky only got involved because Steve couldn’t, than because standing up for Sam just came second nature to him.

“Good,” Steve said, and he meant it. “I’m glad he took care of it.”

“Well, yeah,” she nodded along, “it’s like the same thing with him giving Sam a ride home. Sam’s pissed at you, so you couldn’t take him home. But I knew you’d want to make sure he got there safely and wasn’t standing around for an hour waiting for a ride, so I asked Bucky to do it.”

“You asked Bucky to take Sam home?”

“Of course,” she said, looking slightly puzzled. “I rode here with Clint, so it wasn't like I could. Besides, Bucky is the only person here he’s friends with other than you, so it made sense for Bucky to take him.”

“That’s true,” Steve agreed, but she could tell he was talking more to himself than to her.

“Wait,” she said, feigning shock. “Don’t tell me you were actually buying Tony’s crap?”

“No. It’s just… sometimes I wonder,” he paused and cleared his throat. “Sometimes it almost seems like…”

She burst out laughing, and cut him off “Oh my God! You’ve known Bucky over 30 years, you two are literally thick as thieves, and you honestly think he’s gonna chose now to fuck you over? And that he’s going to do it because of a guy he’s met a handful of times? I mean, you know how insane that sounds right?”

 _Insane but entirely accurate,_ she thought to herself.

“Well, yeah, when you put it like that,” he said, sheepishly, then sighed. “I know Bucky would never. Hell, I know Sam wouldn’t either. I’m just drunk and upset, and not thinking straight.”

God, he felt like an idiot. Men didn’t come better or more decent than Sam Wilson. And if there was someone on the planet more loyal than Bucky, Steve had yet to meet them. 

He knew better than to take anything Stark said with more than a grain of salt. The man was a known shit starter. Tony had just picked the perfect moment to say that crap to him — when he was already worried about his relationship with Sam.

But he’d fix things with Sam.

And, for now, he’d forget about any doubts he had concerning Sam and Bucky’s friendship.

“Come on, Nat. Let’s go find those marshmallows Scott was talking about,” he said, grabbing her hand.

She smiled back at him and followed along, but she knew Steve too well to relax completely — knew him too well to think she’d nipped this whole thing in the bud.

Because, while Steve seemed okay for the moment, Natasha knew that the second he saw Sam and Bucky so much as stand what he felt was too close to one another, all those old suspicions would pop back up. 

Only this time those thoughts would be accompanied by Tony’s voice playing on loop in his head, saying “maybe your boyfriend isn’t gonna be your boyfriend very much longer.”

Natasha could only hope that Bucky took her advice and chilled the hell out with Sam, because if he kept going at this rate, not even she would be able to talk Steve down. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated!!!
> 
> Next up: Sam and Steve are at odds. Sam and Bucky are not.
> 
> Chapter title: 702


	9. All the Things (Your Man Won’t Do)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Steve are at odds. Sam and Bucky are not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos 😊

Sam glanced at his watch just as the elevator hit his floor, and, not for the first time that afternoon, cursed his coworker, Monica. She was his shift relief, so of course she’d pick today — a day when he actually had solid plans — to be late. Now _he_ was late too. 

He had just enough time to shower and change before heading over to Bucky’s. _So much for my plan to stop and buy a bottle of wine or something to take over,_ he thought with a sigh _._ He hated to arrive empty handed, but it was better than arriving ridiculously late.

As soon as he stepped into his apartment and passed the entryway, he heard someone moving around and about jumped out of his skin.

But, of course, it was Steve, lounging on his couch and watching Sports Center.

It took some effort, but Sam managed to summon up a smile for Steve.

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting you,” he said. The smile he could do, a warm greeting, not so much.

Steve heard it, but chose to ignore the tired tone of Sam’s voice, and gave him a bright smile in return.

“I know, I know.” He turned off the television and stood up. “Tonight’s your little play date with Bucky,” he went on, chuckling a bit.

“Yes, it is going to be minuscule isn’t it,” Sam said, dryly. His annoyance at Steve’s condescending tone was more than obvious.

“What?”

“Nothing, Steve. Go ahead and say what you gotta say; I need to go get ready.”

“See, _that_ ,” Steve said, accusingly. “That right there. You’ve been acting standoffish ever since the party. Sure, we’ve talked since then, but you’ve been acting differently. You say we’re fine,” he went on, “But I can tell something’s off with us. Now you’re trying to blow me off so you can go hang with Bucky! What’s the deal, Sam?”

Sam really didn’t feel like doing this right now, but if Steve was going to insist, then he was going to be honest.

“It seems like you think I’m mad at you, but I’m honestly not even really angry anymore at this point.” He paused a moment, then said: “I’m disappointed in you, Steve.”

“What — why?” 

“The way you acted when I wanted to leave the other night,” Sam explained. “It was selfish — _you_ were selfish. You knew how important that day was to me, how hard it was going to be for me. Hell, you knew I dropped my plans to be there. But when I wanted to leave earlier than you thought I should, you turned into a complete asshole. Frankly, I thought you were better than that.”

“But I apologized,” Steve said, sounding genuinely confused.

“Yeah, you apologized that night and the next day you texted, ‘I’m sorry, baby’. But that was it; you haven’t mentioned it again,” Sam countered. “And, yeah, I said it was okay, but it really wasn’t and I shouldn’t have said it was. It’s not okay for you to treat me like that when you don’t get your way, and I need to know that you understand that.”

“Sam, I’m sorry, okay?” He said, eyes wide and expression guileless as it ever was when trying to escape trouble with his boyfriend.

“I know I was out of line. I know that,” he said, walking closer to Sam. “I was just worried about you, couldn’t stand the thought of you being alone on such a tough day, and I reacted badly to you wanting to leave.”

“Baby,” he continued, grabbing Sam’s hands and looking into his eyes. “I thought if I could just keep you with me, I could keep the hurt of you not being able to be with Riley away. But I know I was wrong. I was worried about you and more than a little tipsy, which I know isn’t an excuse at all,” he rushed to add.

“But I truly am sorry, and I promise you that it won’t happen again. I won’t talk to you like that ever again,” he swore.

Steve sounded sincere, but then again, Steve _always_ sounded sincere. And it was becoming harder and harder for Sam to trust in that sincerity, especially when his gut was telling him not to.

On the other hand, what good would not forgiving him do? Sam wasn’t going to break up with him over this (at least he didn’t _think_ he was) and staying mad wouldn’t do either of them any good.

So, he’d accept Steve’s apology, for real this time. But he wouldn’t forget... in fact, he’d just add Steve’s outburst at the party to the growing list of things in his head that didn’t add up. 

“I forgive you, Steve,” Sam said, giving Steve’s hands a gentle squeeze before letting go and checking his watch. “But I really do need to start getting ready or I’m gonna be late.”

“I know, but just give me one more minute, okay? I really did come over here for a reason,” he said, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a business card. 

“Believe it or not, I knew I’d fucked up. I knew you deserved a better apology before you said something just now. That’s why I came over in the first place — to make it up to you.”

“Okay,” Sam said, drawing out the word.

“Here,” he said, and handed the card to Sam, who in turn, examined it.

“Peter Parker?” Sam read aloud.

“Yeah, he’s a young guy, just started working for me at the auto shop,” Steve explained. “Real young, real eager to please. Anyway, one of his new duties is gonna be taking care of some stuff so you can stop worrying about it.”

“Steve,” Sam said, almost squinting at him. “I’m a little lost here...”

“An account has been opened at Olivia’s Orchid and Flower Boutique. She’s the best florist in town. Anytime you want to have flowers put on Riley’s grave, you call Peter and he’ll take care of it.”

_Is this creepy or weird? It feels weird... it feels like I’m missing something._

“He’s also gonna be responsible for weeding the area around the plot and cutting the grass, and making sure everything looks perfect. Hell, even in the winter, he’ll be out there clearing off the snow.”

“That’s nice,” Sam said, hoping he didn’t look as dumbfounded as he felt. “But—

“Wait — here’s the best part,” he interrupted. “Once a week, rain or fuckin’ shine, Peter will be out there cleaning the headstone making sure it glows. Glows, Sammy.”

“Jeez Steve, I don’t know what to say...”

_Understatement of the year. This is just so odd… borderline creepy even. Definitely overreaching._

_Or, maybe it isn’t… Maybe it’s incredibly sweet and my feelings about all the other stuff going on with us are clouding my judgement?_

Steve’s grin was just this shy of being smug. He clearly had no idea what Sam was thinking, and Sam could only be thankful for that. 

“This way—

If he couldn’t tell from his face, Sam could _definitely_ tell from his tone that Steve was really feeling himself at this point.

“—you don’t have to worry about going out there so much. It’s all being taken care of for you.”

And there it was — the other shoe Sam had known was eventually going to drop.

“I don’t need anyone to take care of my husband’s grave for me,” Sam said, sharply. “I can manage it just fine on my own, have been for a while in fact. And, really, I’d love to go into detail about just how completely out of pocket your offer is, but I have to go. Get. Dressed.”

“Sam, baby,” Steve said, eyes wide. “I… I don’t understand. You’re upset with me again? I’m just trying to do something nice for you, and take some of the weight off your shoulders. I mean, your anniversary is one thing, but you stop by the cemetery an awful lot. Now you don’t have to.”

Sam did try to stop by there for a quick visit about once a week, or at least every couple of weeks if he was busy. But, whether he went once a week or once a day, he really didn’t see how it was any of Steve’s business. 

Also, there was the fact that this was just plain… weird. Families take care of gravesites — literally everyone knows that. Sure, the cemetery does regular lawn maintenance, but everything else from flowers to headstone maintenance is done by the family. Not some guy named Peter who he’s never met, and is apparently trying to suck up to his boyfriend.

Nope. Sam didn’t care how doe eyed and innocent Steve looked, something just wasn’t right.

“You know what,” he said, looking up at Steve. “I get that you want to help, and I understand that you’re just trying to be nice, but this isn’t something I want or need.”

Actually, that was an understatement, because he hated the idea. And, the main thing he was beginning to _understand_ was that Steve was jealous of his late husband. _That has to be it,_ he thought. Between the way Steve had behaved at the party, to this new, completely inappropriate, suggestion that he send some flunky to tend to Riley’s grave, Sam couldn’t help but feel like Steve just wanted him to move on from his marriage completely. 

The other day he’d wondered if Steve had purposely had Bucky’s party on his anniversary, but he couldn’t fathom why his boyfriend would do such a thing. Sam felt like he had his answer now though. Steve simply didn’t want him spending time thinking about Riley, when he could be thinking about Steve. Jealousy, plain and simple.

Too bad he didn’t have any proof. Because if he was right — if Steve was lying about his motivations for this offer, and about the reason the party had to be on his anniversary, then just as his sister had said, _who knows what else he’d lie about._

And while Sam wasn’t the type to flat out accuse someone of something without having any evidence to back up his claims, that didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to at least shut this, frankly bizarre, offering of Steve’s down.

 _“_ You can cancel the lackey and put a stop on the flowers,” Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I appreciate the gesture.” _Except I don’t, like at all._ “But I’d prefer you contact this Peter guy and call the whole thing off.”

“I mean, come on, how would you feel if I had some stranger tending to Peggy’s grave?” He asked, genuinely curious.

“Huh?” Steve stumbled out, before he got a hold of himself and coughed to cover it up. “I don’t know, I’d probably say, thank you.”

People grieved in different ways, but once again Sam was struck by how different Steve seemed to be from the other widows in his support group.

“Well,” Sam shrugged, “I guess this is just another of the many ways we differ.”

 _There he goes again,_ Steve thought, feeling out of sorts. This wasn’t his Sam. He could feel that something had shifted since the party. Sam might not be leaving him, but he still felt like the other man was pulling away. He just didn’t know what he could do about it, other than try again to explain himself.

“Okay,” he drawled, still looking off balance.”I just thought some distance might do you some good, you know, mental health wise,” Steve said, taking one last shot.

“Riley’s dead, Steve,” he said, voice dryer than sandpaper. “I think that’s about all the distance from him I need. And, as far as my mental health is concerned, I think my recovery process is coming along better than ever.”

“Really? That’s great,” Steve replied, and thanked God his poker face automatically slid back in place.

“Yup,” Sam said, smirking. “I’m off to build one of those healthy relationships my therapist talks so much about right now,” he said, then gave Steve a kiss on the cheek. “So, if you’ll excuse me. I’m gonna go get ready. Lock up when you leave, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Steve said, grabbing his keys after being so clearly brushed off, and heading towards the door.

Sam didn’t even glance back on his way to the bathroom. 

That whole conversation was kind of peculiar and more than a little stressful. However, he was proud of himself. He’d confronted Steve about his behavior, and received what at least appeared to be a genuine apology. 

And then, instead of rolling with the punches when Steve suggested something that wouldn’t do anything but make him upset, he’d refused to go along with it.

Small steps for sure, but Sam was still happy. He’d gone with his gut. He’d spoken up when something didn’t seem right, and he’d gotten the outcome he wanted. 

********

“Hiya Bucky Bear,” Becca greeted as she flopped down onto his bed.

“You know,” he said, giving a long suffering sigh. “I never would’ve given you a key if I knew you’d just drop by unannounced.”

She snorted. “Yeah, right. You love when I drop by unannounced.”

Which, yeah, true enough.

“Maybe on nights when I’m not busy,” he conceded.

“Oh, is tonight date night?” She asked, innocently, but Bucky didn’t buy it for a second. 

“And here I thought you were staring at yourself in the mirror like a weirdo for no good reason.”

“Not a date,” he mumbled, as he continued to run his fingers through his hair. At least, he wasn’t gonna admit it to her that it felt like a date.

“It is so a date,” she said, popping her gum like she wasn’t a whole grown up. “What else would you call two people hanging out who wanna bone each other?”

“Jesus,” Bucky said, making a gagging noise. “Real classy, Bec.”

“Please.” She rolled her eyes. “Stop acting like I didn’t get my mouth from you. And stop trying to change the subject; there’s no point in denying it.”

“Whatever. I may wanna ‘bone’ Sam, as you so eloquently put it, but one: he has a boyfriend, and two: who’s to say he even feels the same way.”

“One,” she began, tone as mocking as she could make it. “His boyfriend sucks. And two: like seventy-five percent of the people you come in contact with _actively_ wanna bone you, the other twenty-five percent probably wouldn’t kick you out of bed, so I’d say it’s a pretty safe bet.”

“Thanks... I guess?” He said, frowning at her in the mirror. “Still doesn’t make this a date though.”

“Fine,” she conceded. “So, where are you taking him on this non-date? That new place that just opened on Simon — The Jazz Kitchen?” She guessed. “It’s supposed to be nice.”

“I’m not taking him anywhere; he’s just gonna hang out for a while.”

“What? Bucky, no.”

“What?” He asked, finally ceasing his needless grooming to turn around and stare at her.

“All the money I’ve seen you drop on the randos you’ve dated, and all Mr. Perfect gets is an invite to your, albeit nice, condo?” She scoffed. “Guess it’s not a date.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed,” he said, laughing. “It’s gonna be fine.”

Something about his tone, had her tilting her head in contemplation.

“Bucky Bear,” she said, in a singsong voice. “What have you got planned?”

“Nothing. Nothing you need to know about anyway.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “At least not until I see how it goes.”

“So, you do have something planned? Phew... for a second I thought you’d suddenly gotten lame.”

“Never.”

“Well,” Becca hopped off the bed and headed to the doorway. “Now that I know you aren’t over here psyching yourself out, I’ll get outta here. Knock him dead, Buck,” she said, gave him a grin, and then left.

********

“I thought maybe you had changed your mind,” Bucky said, by way of greeting and then tried not to grimace. _Real smooth._

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. “I left work later than usual, and then when I went home to change, Steve was there and…” he stopped abruptly, and shook his head. “You know what, it doesn’t even matter. I’m sorry, I’m late,” he repeated.

“And I definitely haven’t changed my mind. I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” he added, honestly, causing Bucky’s eyes to light up.

“Me too,” Bucky replied, and motioned for Sam to follow him in. 

“You look great, by the way,” he added, a shark grin on his face. “Seriously, you should always wear those jeans. They look like Calvin Klein himself made them especially for you.”

“Shut up,” Sam said, but he was chuckling. 

“What — are compliments not allowed on a non-date?” 

Sam rolled his eyes. “First of all, I know how these jeans make my ass look” — _Oh my God, I know how these jeans make my ass look, is that why I wore them? Was it like some subconscious thing?_ — “so I know what you’re really complimenting.”

“Second off, thanks,” he smiled, somewhat coyly. “You look nice too.”

“Thanks,” Bucky replied, calmly, even as he felt his stomach dip. _Take that, Becca. All that staring at myself in the mirror paid off after all._

“So, uhh,” he cleared his throat, “I thought we could watch a movie.” 

Sam looked over at the enormous television taking up half of Bucky’s living room. “Well, you’ve certainly got the TV for it,” Sam said, and took a step in the direction of the couch.

“No.” Bucky grabbed his arm to hold him in place, then started blushing. “I mean, yeah, I do. But… I thought we might watch it somewhere else.”

“Okay…”

“Just uhhh follow me,” he said, pulling Sam by the hand. 

They walked through his kitchen to his patio door, and stepped out into his small backyard. 

Sam was not prepared for the sight that met them. In fact, he audibly gasped.

Strings of warm white Christmas lights were strung throughout the two small trees in Bucky’s yard and along the frame of his patio. A portable projector sat in the middle of the yard facing the back wall of the condo. A few blankets were spread in the grass and a couple of lawn chairs were set up too. But, the cherry on top, the thing that was knocking Sam out, was the table to the left of him full of a wide variety of wine sitting in one of those fancy electric coolers, standard movie theater candy, and an authentic old fashioned popcorn machine.

“Bucky, this is amazing,” Sam said, looking around, almost bemusedly. “If I had a set up like this, I’d spend all my time out here.”

Bucky laughed, and said, “yeah, it is pretty awesome.” 

But he neglected to mention that he’d done all this recently, and he’d only done it because Sam was coming over. He wanted the night to be special, so he’d spent the past couple of days researching this stuff on Pinterest and then dropping an obscene amount of cash to actually make it happen. He knew he couldn’t tell Sam though — guys didn’t just go around spending hundreds of dollars on non-dates.

“And, umm,” Bucky said, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “I know this was you and Riley’s thing so I get that I might be overstepping, and if I am we can watch something else; it’s totally cool with me. But since you mentioned that you have a thing for 80’s action movies, I thought maybe you’d watch one with me I’ve never seen before,” he said, and pulled the projector remote out of his pocket and pressed play. 

Sam focused on the makeshift screen, a look of confusion on his face for about thirty seconds, until a plane appeared and his expression instantly cleared.

“ _Die Hard_ ?” Sam exclaimed, looking back at Bucky, incredulously. “You’ve never seen _Die Hard_?!”

“Nah,” Bucky confirmed. “But it’s supposed to be good, right?” He asked, playing dumb.

“Oh my God, Barnes. It’s excellent. On my top five list even,” he added, heading over to one of the blankets and taking a seat. 

“Grab some popcorn and one of those bottles of wine, and get your ass over here. I have so much to teach you.”

Bucky did not need to be told twice. He grabbed the stuff and a couple of plastic wine glasses he’d had sitting out, and took a seat right next to Sam. 

“Is this okay?”

Sam knew Bucky was referring to how close he was sitting — thighs touching and arms brushing together. But after the day he’d had at work, after the talk he’d had with Steve, this — tonight — was just what he needed. 

“James,” Sam grabbed his hand and gave it a quick squeeze, “this is perfect.”

And if Bucky gave himself a mental pat on the back and threw up a silent cheer, then nobody had to know.

****

“Okay, okay,” Bucky said, as the credits rolled. “You were right: it was pretty damn good.”

And it was, but that’s not the reason Bucky was so sorry to see it end. They’d edged even closer together as the evening had turned more breezy, and at one point when Bucky saw Sam rubbing his arms to stave off the cold, he’d wrapped one of the extra blankets around the both of them. 

Sam had lifted an eyebrow at him, to let Bucky know he wasn’t as slick as he thought he was, but Sam had still leaned into Bucky’s side and pulled the blanket a little tighter around his shoulders. 

So, yeah, Bucky wasn’t quite ready to let go of this new intimacy, even if he did know it was only temporary.

“Man, now you have to watch the third one; it’s almost just as good,” Sam said, stretching his legs out, but he didn’t make any move to get up.

“Skipping right over 2 huh?” Bucky asked, laughing.

Sam shook his head. “Die Harder is a solid sequel, and the fourth one is fun if ridiculous.”

“More ridiculous than this one?”

Sam drew a breath and brought a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “Hey, this could totally happen. Your average guy with, like, a special set of skills and some help on the outside could pull this off,” Sam countered. 

“But, I’m pretty sure McClane jumps over a helicopter or something in the fourth one.” He laughed. “So, like I said, it’s fun, but ridiculous. And we won’t even talk about the fifth one, but, yeah, the third one is awesome.”

“Too bad you probably have to leave,” Bucky said, giving Sam an almost daring look. “I ordered the whole set cause they were running some kind of special, so we could watch it right now if you had time.”

Sam did not have time. He had an early shift tomorrow and really could’ve used a good night’s sleep, but he didn’t want to leave. Sitting in the cool night air, drinking wine and eating junk food, laughing with Bucky at John McClane’s quips — it was the most fun he’d had and the most relaxed he’d felt since, well, since the last time he’d hung out alone with Bucky. 

So, for one of the few times in his adult life he purposely did the completely irresponsible thing.

“I can stay,” he said, shrugging. “If you were serious…”

 _I’d keep you with me forever if I could,_ Bucky thought, then almost gagged at his own cheesiness. But he just couldn’t help himself; Sam brought it out of him.

“Of course I was serious,” Bucky replied aloud, eyes lighting up, as he grabbed for the remote.

“You want more candy? Or popcorn? Should I order some real food or something?”

“Relax,” Sam said, laughing at him a little. 

“Sorry,” Bucky said, a little sheepishly. “I’m just… I’m really glad you’re here.”

Sam knocked his shoulder against Bucky’s, companionably.

“So am I.”

****

After the credits had run on _Die Hard with a Vengeance_ , Sam’s own yawning let him know that he couldn’t put it off any longer. He needed to get going, before he did something completely inappropriate like fall asleep right there under the stars with Bucky.

“I guess I better head out,” Sam said, standing up and slipping on his shoes. 

“Here, I’ll walk you to the door.”

The short walk back through the house to the front door was largely silent. Both men were a little melancholy about seeing the evening come to the end.

“Bye, man,” Sam said, as he stepped out the front door.

“See ya,” Bucky responded, but he didn’t make any move to close the door and go back inside, and Sam didn’t start to walk away.

Bucky shook his head, and laughed a little. “Is it just me, or is this part kinda… awkward?”

“No,” Sam agreed, chuckling a bit himself. “I know what you mean.”

“Yeah, cause if this was a date, I’d definitely be trying to get a goodnight kiss.” _Or some goodnight sex_. “But it’s not,” he rushed to add. 

“So, am I supposed to shake your hand or what? Sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and turning a little red. “I haven’t made a new friend since I was like fifteen.”

“God, you’re ridiculous,” Sam exclaimed, now clearly laughing at Bucky instead of with him. “Come here,” he said, and grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a hug. “Is this cool?”

 _Cool, amazing_. “No complaints from me,” Bucky answered, slightly stunned, as he rubbed his hands down the length of Sam’s back.

“Yeah,” Sam said, dryly, before giving him one last squeeze and stepping back again. “I figured you wouldn’t have a problem with it.”

“Now, let’s try this again. Bye, Barnes.”

“Bye, Sam,” he replied, grinning like an idiot as he watched Sam head towards his car.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated!!
> 
> Next up: Sam hangs out with his friends and gets some advice. Steve crosses another line.
> 
> Chapter title: Joe


	10. Count On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam hangs out with his friends and gets some advice. Steve crosses another line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos! You guys are awesome 😊

“Hey, Sarah; what’s up?” Sam greeted, as he answered his phone.

“Listen,” she said, and he could practically feel her excitement coming through the phone. “Mama and Daddy just dropped by, completely unannounced, said something about missing their grandbaby — who they just saw a few days ago, but whatever — and took Jody to spend the night with them.”

“Anyway, after Justin and I were finished high-fiving,” she said, chuckling. “We decided to have a card party tonight. Nothing big, but you should really come.”

Sam frowned down at himself. “I don't know, sis. I’m already in my sleep clothes. And I don’t really feel like dealing with a party full of people tonight.” 

The last one he’d been to had been enough to last a lifetime.

“Oh my God, grandpa. It’s not even eight yet.” She clucked her tongue. “I swear, nobody would ever know you were the younger sibling to hear you talk.”

“We’re like a year apart—

“Whatever,” she interrupted. “Come on, it’ll be fun. And I promise there’s only gonna be like a handful of us. You can even bring tall, blonde, and shady if you want. I swear I’ll play nice.”

He snorted. She’d play her version of nice, which wouldn’t do anything but irritate Steve.

“Steve’s busy tonight.” _Thank God_. “But, what the hell, I’ll drop by. It’s not like I’m doing anything here. Let me throw on some clothes and I’ll see you in a few.”

“Alright, cool. See you soon,” she said, before hanging up.

 _Hmmm maybe tonight will be good for me,_ Sam thought to himself, as he stood and headed to his bedroom to get ready.

****

Sam had let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, when he walked into his sister’s home and saw only a few faces like she’d promised. Even better, they were all people he’d known for years. People he had grown up with. Sarah and he were very close in age, and very close in social status during school, so they’d always run in the same circles. 

It was comforting to simply be in the presence of the group of people who, other than his parents and his late husband, knew him best. T’Challa: who’d had his back since they played in the Pop Warner league together, and whose father was a member of his own daddy’s church. T was there with his wife, Nakia, a fairly prominent community organizer, who just happened to look like a Cover Girl model.

Then there was Claire — his oldest friend and probably both his sister’s and his own best friend. Like Sam had told Steve to keep from dealing with Steve’s unwarranted jealousy all the time, his relationship with Claire may have been “kid shit” in the strictest sense. But there was a time when he’d thought he would marry Claire. 

He’d been young and in love; or, as in love as an eighteen year old could be. And he’d seriously considered buying her at least a promise ring before he shipped out for basic, but in the end they’d agreed that starting the next stage of their lives — college for her and the military for him — in a relationship, wasn’t fair to either of them. 

Sam knew now that they had made the right decision back then, but he still loved Claire — only now it was just as a friend. She was a nurse at the same hospital he worked at, and they spent a lot of time together. So, downplaying their high school relationship was the only way to keep Steve off his back.

These days she and T’Challa were his best friends, and after an hour of snacks, drinks, and playing Tonk with them and his sister and her husband, Sam was truly thankful that Sarah had gotten him out of the house that evening.

“This is some ol’ bull,” Sarah said, throwing down her cards. “I swear, a couple of y’all must be cheating.”

“Don’t be mad cause you suck at this game,” Claire said, laughing. “You’ve _always_ sucked at this game.”

“Okay,” Sam said, joining in the laughter. “I still remember that time Misty Knight won five bucks off of you during lunch and started gloating. I thought you were gonna throw your milk at her.”

“Whatever,” said Sarah, but she was smiling too. “Misty was a sore winner.”

“Face it babe,” her husband said, giving her thigh a squeeze. “You’re a sore loser.” 

“Please,” Sarah went on, describing all of Misty’s non-existent faults. They’d always been rivals, even if they were still friends.

“You’ve been mad at her ever since Coach made her your co-captain during your senior year,” Claire said, interrupting her.

“Oh my God,” Sarah exclaimed, in exasperation. “I have not.” She shook her head. “I invite you guys over, feed you, and this is the thanks I get. Pick on someone else.”

They kept going back and forth, but Sam was distracted by his phone buzzing, alerting him to a text message.

Sam almost sighed, sure that it was Steve checking in again like he’d already done a few times throughout the evening. But he gave an involuntary smile when he saw Bucky’s name flashing on the screen.

_Okay, sweetheart. I’ve got it: I know what we should watch next. The 80’s movie with one of the best fight scenes of all time._

**_Bloodsport? Man, I just watched that the other day,_ ** Sam replied, thankful that Bucky couldn’t see the blush that had spread across his face as soon as he read the word “sweetheart”.

Plus there was the fact that apparently Bucky had decided that 80’s movies could be their thing now too. And it was kind of tripping Sam out that he wasn’t bothered by it, that he was in fact excited by the thought of more movie nights under the stars with Bucky. Because Sam knew that had Steve suggested it, at this point he would’ve just assumed that it was another attempt on the man’s part to push the memory of Riley out of his life.

 _That’s fine. Cause I was actually talkin’ about The Thing,_ Bucky sent back, breaking Sam out of his thoughts.

**_Okay, okay. Frank vs. Nada is definitely better._ **

_Exactly. So, why don’t you check your schedule, let me know when you’re free next, and this time I’ll make you dinner too._

**_You wanna cook for me, Barnes?_ **

_I wanna do a lot of things for you, Wilson. Anything you’ll let me._

Sam’s eyes widened at that, but even though he had a ridiculous grin on his face at this point he knew he had to steer them away from flirting. It was one thing to flirt a little in person where it felt more open, but if anyone went through his phone and saw this thread, Sam had a feeling it wouldn’t look good… like at all. 

**_Well, another movie night sounds great. I’m out right now, but I’ll let you know when I’m free once I get home._ **

_Okay, Sammy. I’ll talk to you later. 😉_

“Hello? Earth to Sam,” T’Challa said, as he snapped his fingers in front of Sam’s face. “Are you going to deal the cards or what?”

Claire reached across the table and picked up the deck T’Challa had sat in front of Sam.

“Nevermind him,” she said, dismissively, and started to shuffle the cards. “I know that look. Hell, I used to be the one getting that goofy ass look.”

“Shut it, Claire,” Sam said, sounding embarrassed. 

“I’m just teasing,” she said, laughing. “I think it’s cute.”

“Cute — nauseating,” his sister said, but she was laughing too. “I guess if Steve’s got you looking like that then things must at least be going better between you two.”

“Better?” Claire asked, looking worried. “Have things not been going well?” 

Sam cut Sarah a look, but she stared back innocently.

“Look at you, just telling everybody’s business. You’re bad as mama,” he said, trying to keep his tone light, despite his snappy words.

“Okay, I’m telling her you said that.”

“Whatever,” he said, and was going to leave it at that, but they were all staring at him expectantly.

And, really, he wanted to bounce what he was thinking off of them. He wanted to see their reactions, but he was nervous about it. 

Given their last conversation, Sarah clearly didn’t trust Steve as far as she could throw him. And after the first time he met Steve, T’Challa had given Sam a look of disbelief, then told Sam flat out that, in his opinion, all those good manners and sweet talk were a front for some seriously shady shit. 

Claire on the other hand actually liked Steve well enough. Then again, she didn’t know that Steve was jealous of just about everything about her: the fact that she worked with Sam, that she’d known Sam for freakin’ ever, that she’d been his first. If she knew that Steve got downright bitchy anytime her name came up, Sam suspected she wouldn’t like him either.

Justin and Nakia hadn’t ever had anything bad to say about Steve, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. 

So, yeah, Sam didn’t know if talking about Steve with a group of people who weren’t his biggest fans, was the best idea. 

On the other hand, there weren't many people he trusted more than the people in this room.

“That wasn’t Steve,” Sam said, finally. 

“Then who—“ Sarah started to ask, but Sam cut her off. 

“And, to be honest, Steve hasn’t been making me smile all that much lately.”

His friends all kind of traded a look, but it was his sister who asked, “Do you want to talk about it, Sammy?”

Sam snorted. “No, but I think I might need to.”

****

The cards lay long forgotten. For a moment, other than the music playing softly in the background, the house was completely silent. 

And then, everyone seemed to snap at once.

“On your anniversary? He threw a party on your anniversary?!” T’Challa asked, incredulously. 

“He said it was the only day everyone was available,” Sam said, even though he didn’t really believe that excuse anymore. 

“I can’t even believe you went,” Claire said.

“Well, the party was kinda my idea, in a roundabout way… I guess,” he explained. “So I kind of had to go.”

She rolled her eyes so hard that it was almost impressive, and snapped, “Boy, all you have to do is stay Black and die.”

“Shut up,” he said, but that had him smiling again. 

“Throwing a party on your anniversary is bad enough,” Sarah cut in, and when Sam turned his attention to her, he could see she was practically seething. “But he took your phone out your hand _and_ tried to stop you from leaving? _And_ yelled at you? Just who does he think he is?”

“He gave my phone right back,” Sam rushed to explain, almost feeling defensive of Steve. “But, yeah, we argued and he did get a little loud,” he confirmed. 

“Steve’s whole thing was he wanted me there where he could keep an eye on me and make sure I wasn’t off being miserable about Riley. He didn’t get that I really just wanted some time to myself.”

“He sounds selfish,” Nakia said, mouth twisted up in distaste.

“He _is_ selfish,” Sarah added. “And what I want to know is, what kind of widower wouldn’t get another widower wanting some privacy on their anniversary?”

 _Thank you_. Sam thought, but didn’t want to say it out loud and really egg his sister on. 

“I mean, did he hate his wife or something? Is that why he can’t fathom somebody wanting to celebrate their late spouse?” She asked, tartly.

And, okay, now Sam was starting to feel a little guilty, like he was sitting around letting — or worse, encouraging — his friends and family to shit talk his boyfriend.

Despite that guilty feeling creeping in, it felt so good to have verification from people whose judgement he trusted that he was right, and Steve had behaved entirely inappropriately. So, maybe that’s why his brain said _forget all that don’t egg her on mess_ when he spoke up again.

“I don’t think he hated Peggy or anything,” he responded. 

_Although, she did cheat on him, so who knows…_

“But if there was ever any doubt about us having two _very_ different marriages, it was laid to rest when he told me how he planned to make things up to me. Man, talk about overstepping.”

“Overstepping how?” His brother-in-law asked. Justin’s face was probably the calmest of everyone’s. Unlike his wife he didn’t look angry, just outdone.

“He,” Sam began, then paused and shook his head a little. The whole thing was still so unbelievable to him. 

“He basically offered to have one of his employees take care of Riley’s gravesite — keep up the maintenance and deliver flowers regularly. But, not so I wouldn’t be burdened or anything, he pretty much said he was offering so that I wouldn’t go visit Riley as often.”

“I hope you told him where he could stick that offer,” T’Challa said.

“Believe me,” Sam said, sitting up as his voice grew stronger. “I checked his ass on that, and shut the whole thing right down.”

“Good.”

“But he looked... bewildered, almost like his feelings were hurt or something. He genuinely didn’t seem to get why the suggestion would be so… repulsive to me.”

“Whole time, I can’t figure out how he could possibly think it was a good idea.”

Sam looked down at his hands a minute, then looked up, eyes completely earnest. 

“Sometimes I honestly just don’t get him.”

“Sam, honey,” his sister said, voice considerably calmer, as she reached over to hold his hand. “I don’t think you’re supposed to.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to get him,” Sarah repeated. “Or, rather, I don’t think he _wants_ you to get him. I’m not trying to bash him, and I’m not trying to be all up in your business, but I don’t think you would’ve told us all this if you didn’t want to really talk about it, if you didn’t want some advice maybe. So, I’m gonna talk frankly:”

“I think Steve is a liar. I think he lied the other day when he said you hadn’t been acting like yourself. I think he’s _still_ lying about what he does for a living. And I’d bet my last damn dollar that he’s lying about that party having to be on your anniversary.”

“And,” she went on, voice raising slightly. “I think _you_ think he’s lying too.”

“Well,” Sam said, feeling slightly defensive and pulling his hand away. “If only thinking something made it true. If only I could go around accusing people of stuff without proof, but I’m _not_ gonna do that.”

“I know you won’t,” Sarah said, still using her big sister voice and talking to him like they were the only two people in the room.

But, if the resulting blush on his face was any indication, Sam was very aware of the fact that everyone could hear them. It was one thing for him to air his own dirty laundry and clear his mind, while his friends co-signed him. But, it was quite another to have his sister tell him about himself and what _he_ needed to do, in front of other people. Oh, he knew she wasn’t trying to be embarrassing, but he couldn’t help that that’s kind of how he felt.

“You won’t accuse him of anything without proof, because you’re a good boyfriend. And you’re hard pressed to think anything bad about him, even when his faults are staring you in the face, because you’re a good man. And, Sammy, that’s what I love most about you — your kind heart, your good soul,” she said, sincerely.

“But Steve is _not_ a good man, and I don’t think he deserves your kindness. At this point, I don’t even think he deserves the benefit of the doubt.”

“I told you a while ago to trust your gut. Well, now I’m telling you to trust your eyes and ears too. Just from what you’ve told us tonight, that man is a bully. He hasn’t been good to you lately,” she said, matter of factly. 

“And don’t think, I don’t know you held back some stuff,” she added, sounding just shy of accusatory. “ _Don’t_ _think for one second_ that I don’t believe you weren’t sugarcoating the hell out of what he’s done.”

 _Well, of course I’m sugarcoating shit_. 

The stuff he’d already told them had gotten such an emotional reaction. There was no way he was going to tell his friends that Steve apparently had some secret business dealings with Tony or that talking to Jarvis made him wonder if the guy had run a background check on him, or something equally as creepy, at Steve’s request. 

_Nope. Better to downplay some of this mess and get us on another topic_ , he thought, but Sarah was still going. 

“I’m not trying to attack you or your relationship. I’m just trying to get you to wake up and smell the jackass. Steve seems like trouble, plain and simple; and I want you to think about the things you just told us — and _didn’t_ tell us — and really consider if he’s the kind of trouble worth dealing with. Don’t stay with Steve just because you’re a nice guy. That’s no reason to hold onto a relationship.”

“I hear you,” Sam said, seriously. “I do. I heard what you said the other day, and I hear you today. I’m thankful for the opportunity to vent.” He gave an abrupt laugh, and added, “Seriously, you have no idea.”

“But that’s all I wanted to do — vent. And I did. And you gave your advice,” he said, really only addressing Sarah. “So, please, can we drop it now and get back to having fun?”

“Sam—

“Sarah, come on. Don’t spoil your own party over my relationship troubles,” he said, and gave her a cajoling smile. 

Sarah wanted to argue. She wanted to pull out charts and graphs — a power point even — and drive home just how messed up his relationship with Steve was, at least to her. But, she knew her brother well, and could tell from the pinched expression on his face that he had reached his limit for the night, so she forced a smile and played along.

“Pfft your dramatic ass couldn’t ruin one of my kickbacks if you tried. Justin,” she turned to her husband, “refresh everyone’s drinks; I think we need it. And Claire, what’d you grab the deck for if you weren’t gonna deal?” She asked, sending her friend an expectant look. 

And just like that, without even a bit of hesitation on anyone’s part, everything returned to normal. Oh, Sam knew they were all pretty much pretending nothing had happened for his sake.

But he appreciated the hell out of them for it.

****

Sam may’ve been confronted with some hard truths, but as he gathered his phone and keys, he couldn’t help but acknowledge that he didn’t regret coming. Honestly, his sister hadn’t told him anything he hadn’t already thought himself. And, sure, hearing it from someone else and hearing it in front of a group of people, even if they were some of his favorite people in the world, hadn’t exactly been easy. But he was still glad he’d come. 

He had needed a night out with his oldest friends. And, he probably needed that kick in the ass from his sister.

“You sure you don’t need any help cleaning up?” Sam asked, not for the first time, as he threw his paper cup in the trash. 

Sarah was his biggest champion, his most consistent support system, even if she was annoying about it. Helping clean up was really the least he could do. 

“Get out of here, Sammy, and get some rest,” she told him.

“You sure?”

“Come on, Sam. If you want to be useful you can walk me to my car,” Claire interjected, as she walked back in the den after using the bathroom. Other than Sam, she was the only guest still left.

 _Here we go,_ Sam thought. Claire wasn’t slick; he was pretty sure she wanted to get him alone cause she had something to say. 

But, it wasn’t like he could say no, so he shrugged and said, “Okay. Let’s go.”

He and Claire both said their goodbyes and headed out.

“Relax, Sammy,” she said, as soon as they were out the door. “I’m not about to give you a big break up with Steve speech or anything, so you can stop looking like that. Besides, I’m pretty sure Sarah said all that needed to be said,” she added, sounding just a little amused. 

“In fact, I think she was so worked up that she forgot how that whole conversation started in the first place — you were staring at your phone like a teenager while cartoon hearts floated around your head.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “That’s an exaggeration.”

“Yeah right, I thought violins were gonna start playin’ in the background.” She paused, and nudged his shoulder with her own. “So, who was it?”

“Just a friend “ he replied, vaguely.

“Well, duh,” she said, giving an eye roll of her own. “You’re too much of a choir boy to have a side piece, even if your life does resemble a Lifetime movie at the moment.”

“A Lifetime movie?” Sam squawked indignantly, but he was smiling. 

“Anyway,” she continued, ignoring him. “Tell me about this _friend._ ”

“Not much to tell.” He shrugged. “We’ve hung out a few times, watched tv and had some beers. That’s pretty much it.”

_Except sometimes he flirts with me like crazy… and defends my honor… and looks at me like I’m the best thing he’s ever seen…_

“Okay,” she drawled, not buying his deliberate vagueness for a second. “Well how’d you two meet?”

Sam grimaced. _God_. He wanted to flat out lie, but he just couldn’t do it. 

“He’s Steve’s best friend; they grew up together. Although,” he bit his lip, thoughtfully, “I actually didn’t know that when I met him.” 

_Jesus Christ,_ she thought. _Maybe I am gonna have to give him a speech after all._

“So… when you met him…” she trailed off. 

“He was basically hitting on me at Steve’s bar.”

“And you found out he was Steve’s friend when exactly?”

“When he showed up at my apartment one night to take me out, at Steve’s request, because Steve had some… business obligation.”

She just stared at him a moment, before shaking her head and saying, “I take it back, your life’s not a Lifetime movie, it’s a whole freakin’ miniseries,” she corrected, wrinkling her nose a little.

“Claire,” he said, warningly. 

“Sorry, sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “It’s just, Jesus, Sammy. You and your boyfriend are having a rough time, so you what, decided to become best friends with _his_ best friend? His best friend who you pretty much just admitted is into you?” She scoffed. “Like what part of all this seems like a good idea?”

“I know, okay. I know. But, I like hanging out with Bucky— 

“Oh my God,” she interrupted. “Even his name is some ridiculous TV bullshit.”

“We always have a good time together,” Sam continued, pretending like he hadn’t heard her. “And I’m allowed to have friends aren’t I?” He asked.

And, frankly, he was getting tired of having to say that.

“You’re allowed to do whatever the hell you want, Sam. And if _Bucky_ makes you smile like you did earlier, then I want you to keep seeing him. But for goodness sake, be smart about it.”

“Claire,” he started to speak, but she held up a hand to cut him off.

“I’m truly glad that you’ve found a new friend, and one who makes you look as happy as he does. Nobody deserves that more than you,” she said, softly. 

“All I’m sayin’ is, I just don’t want Steve using this as another excuse to start trippin’.”

“I’m sure at this point, Steve’s gotten that he needs to leave well enough alone if he wants our relationship to work.”

Claire seriously doubted that, but all she said was, “well, I sure hope so.” 

She opened her door to leave, but knew she couldn’t go without at least trying to wipe that recently developed frown off his face.

“Bye, Falcon,” Claire said, softly, even though she hadn’t called him that in years. 

It was an old nickname. Something she’d given him in high school because she said he practically flew down the football field, and it had stuck right through to graduation. 

And, just like back in the day, hearing it caused Sam to visibly perk up. 

He didn’t know why, maybe he was having some sort of Pavlovian response, maybe he was just super emotional because of everything going on, but he had to embrace her right then. Crossing the foot of space separating them, he gave her a crushing hug.

“See ya, E-Claire,” he whispered in her ear, before letting her go.

As she got into her car and drove off, he could only pray that everything would work out.

****

“Finally,” Clint mumbled to himself, and immediately put down his binoculars and reached for his phone to call Steve.

He’d been sitting on this street, in one of the body shop’s more nondescript loaner cars, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, for what felt like forever. So, he was more than ready to finally have something to report in.

“What do you have for me?” Steve said, in lieu of greeting him.

Clint took a second to put him on speaker, and then said, “Hey, man. Sam was definitely at his sister’s place. He just walked out the door. I’m watching him walk some pretty Black chick to her car as we speak.”

“Okay,” Steve said, sighing in relief. “What kind of car does she have?”

“Looks like a silver Jetta, but I can’t be positive.”

“Oh, that’s just Claire then,” he said, dismissively. “Alright, as long as he drives off alone, you’re free to leave when he does.”

“Okay,” Clint drawled in reply. “Does that mean you’re ready to tell me what this is all about?”

“No,” Steve replied, flatly.

“Well, can you at least tell me who you expected to see him with, since apparently we’re not concerned with the beautiful lady he’s talking to?”

“Nope,” Steve answered, even though he could admit to himself that Claire was always a little bit of a concern, she just wasn’t who he was worried about lately. 

“You did good though. Just let Sam get out of there, and then you can go. Make sure he doesn’t see you. And remember—

“Yeah,” Clint prompted.

“This stays between us. Don’t bring it up again. Don’t even tell Natasha. Got it?”

“Yeah, I got it,” he replied, even though he still didn’t know what the hell was going on. 

“Good,” Steve said, and then hung up. 

In his office at the bar, Steve breathed a little easier. He wasn’t proud of what he’d just done, but it was necessary for his peace of mind.

Sam had originally told him that he was going to be staying in tonight, watching television and having some downtime. However, when he texted Sam later to check in with him, Sam had let him know, somewhat briskly Steve thought, that he was at his sister’s house and would talk to him later.

Then he hadn’t even opened Steve’s next two text messages, or answered his call.

So, yeah, he’d freaked out a little. And for some reason that he didn’t want to examine too closely, he’d automatically assumed that Sam was with Bucky again, except only this time he wasn’t even being up front about it. It really didn’t help that he couldn’t get a hold of Bucky either. 

Steve had to know the truth, so he’d dispatched Clint to Sarah’s house to make sure Sam was really there. Not his finest moment, he knew, but it definitely took a weight off his shoulders.

Sure, he felt guilty about it, but at least neither Sam nor Bucky had any idea what he’d done — any idea that he’d ever doubted either of them. And as far as Steve was concerned a little guilt, was worth the contentment he felt. Worth knowing that Sam was still his. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated!
> 
> Next up: Bucky and Steve have a talk. Bucky and Sam do a little more than talking.
> 
> Chapter title: Whitney Houston & CeCe Winans


	11. In My Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve have a talk. Bucky and Sam do a little more than talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween 🎃 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter 😊

Sam was just on his way out the door, when Steve walked in carrying takeout.

“Good morning,” Sam chirped, trying not to sound impatient, but, really, he didn’t have time for this.

“Good morning,” Steve returned, looking puzzled. “Why are you in your scrubs? You work this morning?”

“Yeah, and I’m just barely on time, so…”

“But I thought you worked the evening shift tonight?” Steve interrupted.

“Yeah, I was supposed to,” Sam replied. “But I switched it around, cause I’m hanging out with Bucky later. I thought I told you that,” Sam added, starting to sound confused himself. 

“It must’ve slipped my mind,” Steve said.

It had not slipped his mind, like at all. But Steve hadn’t seen Sam in a few days and this morning he’d woken up determined to see his boyfriend, work or not.

“Sorry,” he went on. “I totally forgot about that. And when I got up this morning I thought it’d be nice to surprise you with breakfast,” he said, lightly swinging the bag in his hand.

“That would be nice, but—

“You know,” Steve cut in. “With you being at your sister’s house the other night and then working doubles the past couple of days, I’ve missed you,” he said, sincerely, then laughed a little. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost think you were avoiding me.”

Sam wasn’t avoiding him. Steve had been busy himself the night Sam went to his sister’s, and those doubles were a favor to his supervisor since they were short staffed. So, no, he hadn’t purposely been trying to stay away from Steve, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t thankful to have some time to himself to think.

“I’m sorry our schedules have been off lately,” Sam said. “And my work shift is kind of up in the air the rest of this week too, since we’re down a person, but hopefully we’ll be able to spend some time together soon.”

 _To talk,_ he added silently. _Once I finish gathering my thoughts, we’re seriously going to talk. And you’re probably not gonna like what I have to say one bit._

“Well, at least take the food with you,” Steve said, handing him the bag. “And don’t push yourself so much. You don’t have to work doubles just because they ask you to.”

Sam accepted the bag, but sent Steve a look. “Well, I kinda do. It’s my job.”

 _Not for long. Eventually we’ll get married and there’ll be no reason for you to work,_ Steve thought, but kept it to himself. He wasn’t trying to start a fight.

“I know,” Steve said. “I just hate to see you working so hard. Anyway,” he grabbed Sam’s other hand, “come on. I’ll walk you down.”

“Okay,” Sam said, mildly surprised that Steve didn’t have more to say, but happy about it nonetheless. 

“And thanks for breakfast,” he felt compelled to add. “That was pretty sweet.”

“I try,” Steve replied, grinning.

 _I know. You’ve just been so bad at it lately,_ Sam thought to himself, but returned Steve’s smile as he followed him out the door.

******

“Hey, man,” Steve greeted, as he took a seat at Bucky’s corner table. “What are you doing hiding back here?”

“Nothing,” Bucky said, shrugging. “Just people watching.”

Steve glanced pointedly around the mostly deserted bar. There were five people in the joint — the regular lunchtime crowd — and they were about as interesting to watch as drying paint.

“People watching? Really?”

“Yup.”

_Nope. Actually, I was sitting here fantasizing about your boyfriend and counting the minutes until I get to see him tonight._

“Why? Do you need something?” He asked, hoping Steve would get on with it, so he could get back to his favorite pastime: thinking about Sam.

“Yeah, actually,” Steve said, then sighed and leaned forward. “I was hoping you could help me out with Sam.”

 _That_ got Bucky’s interest.

“What do you mean?”

“Things between us have been… off lately. He says he’s not, but I know he’s upset with me. He seems so distant lately.” Steve rubbed his hand over his face. “I just want to get us back on track; get things back to normal.”

“Okay,” Bucky drawled. “What do you need me for?”

“Give me some ideas, Buck. You’ve always been good at this shit. You can charm the pants off of anybody, literally.”

True, but so could Steve. Yeah, Bucky had always had the pretty face, but once Steve had gotten older, filled out, and started having the kind of confidence born of having a pocket full of money, Steve could get pretty much anyone he wanted. At least for a night.

“Since when do you need my help with this type of stuff?”

Steve scoffed and looked at Bucky like that was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard.

“Oh I don’t know, since about the same time I started lying about having a dead wife just to get somebody to talk to me. Since it’s Sam, Bucky.”

Which, okay, fair. But still…

“Come on, man,” Steve went on, starting to sound kind of annoyed. “You’re his new best friend and all. So, tell me, what does he want? What can I do to fix it?”

Bucky almost laughed. _Seriously, how is this my life?_

“Steve, man, I don’t want to get involved. This is so far from being my business.”

Steve had to snort at that. “And since when has that stopped you from getting involved where Sam’s concerned?”

_Well, true enough._

“Okay, but the last time I did, you basically told me to mind my own damn business. So, I’m trying to respect that,” he tried.

“Jesus, I’m asking for your advice on how to get out of the doghouse, not asking you to perform some kind of recognizance mission,” Steve snapped, defensively. 

Which, if Steve had any objectivity about the situation, he’d admit that was a bit nervy of him, considering he did actually have someone spy on Sam just the other day.

“I mean, you guys are always texting and hanging out now,” he went on, clearly disgruntled about it. “Surely, he’s said something.”

 _Pal, we do not spend our time talking about you,_ Bucky thought. And frankly, he wanted to scream it in Steve’s face, but he knew he needed to bring Steve down a notch before the man got too pissy, so he kept his tone calm when he replied. 

“He hasn’t,” Bucky said, shrugging. And then, because he thought it might get that constipated look off Steve’s face: “And don’t call me Shirley.”

It did _not_ get that look off Steve’s face. In fact, then he just looked pissed.

“Do I look like I’m in the mood for jokes?” Steve asked, eyes narrowing. “Cause I’m really not.”

“I’m here asking my best friend for help, and it feels like I might as well be pulling teeth. I mean, what’s the deal?” He asked, leaning forward some more to stare Bucky down. “Is there some other reason you don’t want to help? Some reason you want Sam to stay upset with me?”

Usually, this is where Bucky would panic a little and start to play dumb. However, instead of adopting a look of confusion, Bucky rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

All Bucky could see was Sam’s expression during their car ride home after that disastrous party, and the pinched look on his face when he’d started to explain how Steve had made him late the other night, before he’d stopped himself.

And it made Bucky reckless when he responded.

“Steve, we watch movies” — _under fairy lights while we nervously brush up against each other like a couple of teenagers on a first date_ — “and eat junk food sometimes.”

“What we don’t do is sit around taking Cosmo quizzes tryin’ to figure out what our perfect date is and whether we’re a summer or a fall or what-the-fuck-ever. And we sure as hell don’t gossip about you,” he snapped.

“You want to make Sam happy?” He asked, but Steve knew it was rhetorical, and just sat staring at him in stony silence. 

“You want him to stop being upset?” Bucky continued, unmoved by Steve’s glare. “Good. I think that’s great. Wonderful even. But don’t come asking me about it, cause if you would’ve listened to me in the first place, when I told you having a party on _his anniversary_ was fucked up, then maybe you wouldn’t be in this position now. Clean up your own damn mess, Steve.”

“Gee, Buck,” Steve said, icily. “Nice to know I can still count on you for help,” he added, before standing up.

And for a split second, Bucky would’ve sworn Steve actually looked… hurt.

“Steve,” Bucky said, then sighed. “I’m— 

“Fuck off,” Steve interrupted, then practically stomped towards the door that led to his back office. 

Bucky stared after him, his stomach churning with nerves. He knew he’d fucked up, knew he’d gone too far. But he almost didn’t care. That’s how tired of Steve’s bullshit he was. 

“Real smooth, James,” Natasha said, by way of greeting, as she slid into Steve’s freshly vacated chair. “When I said chill out, this is _exactly_ what I meant.”

“Don’t start, Tasha,” Bucky said, swiveling his gaze to her.

“Yeah, no.” She snorted. “You should’ve told yourself not to start. I know you like to do that thing where I talk about how you’re obviously into Sam and you pretend you don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, but I’d say we’re past that point. I mean, seriously, would it have killed you to suggest he get the guy some flowers?”

Bucky picked up his long neglected shot, swallowed it down in one gulp, and slammed the glass on the table.

“Yes, okay! Yes, it would’ve killed me,” he snapped.

Apparently he was done pretending.

“Bucky—

“Look,” he said, cutting her off. “Sam might be his. I might have to watch them be together. I might have to listen to Steve talk about their relationship. I accept that, okay? But I do _not_ have to help him keep the man I…” He trailed off, then cleared his throat before continuing. “I’m not about to actively help Steve keep Sam. I just can’t do it.”

Natasha sighed, her expression softening a bit, but she still looked disapproving.

“Okay, fine; you could’ve thrown him a bone though. Instead you chose to antagonize him _and_ make yourself look incredibly suspicious in the span of like five minutes.”

“It’ll be fine,” Bucky said, with a confidence he didn’t really feel. “I’ll walk it back when he’s cooled down.” 

“Well, you may want to do that sooner rather than later if you want to keep seeing Sam without looking over your shoulder.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re probably way more obvious than you think you are, because your boyfriend’s _other_ boyfriend put a tail on him the other night.”

“What?!”

“Yup,” she replied. “Steve had Clint sit on Sam’s sister’s house to make sure he was really where he said he’d be.”

“Why?” Bucky wanted to know. “What set him off?”

“Who knows?” She shrugged. “Clint said Steve gave him like zero details, then swore him to secrecy about the whole thing. And apparently Steve hasn’t mentioned it since.”

She grabbed some nuts out of the dish on the table and began munching on them thoughtfully.

“It’s weird though. He should’ve known better than to think Clint wouldn’t tell me.”

“Maybe he did know.” Bucky gave a shrug of his own. “Maybe he just didn’t think you’d tell me if you knew… or, maybe he did. Who knows what’s going through Steve’s head these days.”

“And, if he’s that concerned, why wouldn’t he just follow Sam himself?” He wanted to know.

“Would _you_ actually want to see your partner in the act of cheating?” She shot back. “I mean, if that’s the reason he’s having Sam trailed in the first place, he was probably scared of what he’d do if he did catch Sam messing around. He’d flip the fuck out.”

Well, this new bit of information was kind of flipping Bucky out. 

Steve having Clint follow Sam was troubling enough, but the fact that Steve hadn’t told him about it was what was truly worrying Bucky. Back in the day, Bucky would’ve been the first person he told. 

Did this mean Steve thought Sam would be with him instead of his sister? If so, Bucky didn’t get it. As far as he knew, Sam had always been upfront with Steve about the times they’d hung out together, so what was different now? Why would he think Sam was lying? 

_Does this mean Steve doesn’t trust Sam anymore?_

_Does it mean he doesn’t trust me?_

Bucky didn’t have the answer to any of those questions. But there was one thing he knew for sure: his little outburst a moment ago was the worst possible timing. He needed to go make this right with Steve. For his sake, and for Sam’s. 

He’d go make nice, if it meant protecting Sam. 

“Christ. I’ll go talk to him.”

“Yeah,” Natasha said. “You do that. And make it sincere, okay? No point in going in there if you’re not gonna be able to sell it.”

“I know,” he said, sighing, and then headed into the back to find Steve.

******

“So,” Bucky said, as he entered Steve’s office without knocking. “I was a real asshole just now huh?”

When Steve didn’t bother to respond, Bucky sighed and said:

“I’m sorry, Stevie. I was distracted and upset about some other stuff and took it out on you,” he explained. 

“What kind of other stuff?” Steve asked, an odd mixture of curiosity and disbelief on his face.

“Just some corner guy who fucked up his package,” Bucky said, waving a hand dismissively.

Which was just a convenient excuse. It was true enough so that if Steve looked into it, his story would check out. However, Bucky didn’t give a damn about a short count. Lately the only thing he’d been focused on was Sam.

“Anyway,” he said, looking appropriately contrite. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you earlier. I’m sorry.”

“You want my help, my advice?” He asked. “Well, here it goes: I think it’s messed up how you lie to Sam all the time like it’s nothing. I think having a party on his anniversary was just about the most insensitive thing you could’ve done. And, frankly, I think it's a minor miracle that he didn’t dump you at that party after the way you treated him.”

“Fine,” Steve grunted out through clenched teeth. “You’ve told me what I’ve done wrong — _again_. Now help me figure out how to make things right.”

_Well, if you stopped being a piece of shit for five minutes that might improve your relationship greatly._

“Honestly, man, other than being especially attentive and going out of your way to be really nice, I’m not sure what you can do to make Sam less upset. That party basically turned into a clusterfuck. He’s probably just gonna need time to get over it,” Bucky guessed, shrugging.

“But, in the meantime, gifts never hurt,” Bucky added, reaching into his jacket’s inside pocket, pulling out a blank white envelope, and handing it to Steve. 

Steve pulled out the contents — two tickets to a Yankees game — and sucked in an appreciative breath.

“Buck, these seats are awesome.”

“Yup.” Bucky nodded. “Right behind home plate.”

“I got these for you and me,” he explained. “I thought maybe we could spend some time together — just us, like we used to.”

False. Bucky had bought those tickets for Sam, had been carrying them around all day so he could surprise Sam with them tonight and invite him to the game. 

Movie nights were cool and all, but Bucky wanted to take Sam out in public too, and he thought a sporting event was a nice neutral place to go. Nobody would question two friends hanging out at a game, right?

“But now I want you to have them,” he continued. “Take Sam. Show him a good time. It’s not the grandest gesture, but I bet he’ll enjoy it. Besides, it’ll probably be good for you guys to go out somewhere and do something.”

“Jeez, Bucky. These tickets are worth like fifteen hundred a piece. Are you sure you wanna give them to me?”

_I’m sure I want to throw you off our scent. I’m sure that giving you these tickets might at least help you think I’m on your side._

“Yeah, man. I want you and Sam to be okay,” he lied, resisting the urge to bite his tongue. “You deserve to be happy.”

“Thank you,” Steve said and stood up, looking genuinely hopeful. “I really appreciate it,” he added, as he wrapped Bucky up in a hug.

“Of course,” Bucky said, as he returned Steve’s embrace. 

Three thousand dollars worth of tickets wasn’t anything to sneeze at. And Bucky could only hope that giving them to Steve and encouraging him to take Sam out would help ease some of Steve’s suspicions about the two of them. Because the last thing an amazing man like Sam Wilson deserved was to be spied on by the likes of them. 

“I gotta get outta here,” Bucky said, stepping back after a moment. 

“Yeah, Sam mentioned you two were hanging out later,” Steve responded, tone fairly nonchalant.

“That’s okay, right?” Bucky asked, pushing a little. He wanted to see if it’d get a reaction out of Steve.

“Sure,” Steve shrugged, and went back to examining the tickets. “I mean I know you two won’t be gossiping about me or anything,” he added, just a tad mockingly, and Bucky had to resist the urge to flush. “So, it’s cool.”

“Cool,” Bucky echoed. 

Not knowing what else to say, he nodded and let himself out the door.

 _It’s not really cool,_ Steve thought as he stared at the space Bucky had just occupied. As much as he wanted to take Bucky’s apology at face value, he just couldn’t. Not after the way his friend had snapped at him over Sam. 

He wanted to believe Bucky was on the up and up, but how could he be sure Bucky wasn’t just giving him advice and offering up those tickets to throw him off what was really going on? 

Nope. There was only one way to be positive, and as much as he suspected that he’d probably feel guilty about it later, he knew what he had to do. 

******

“Okay, Barnes,” Sam said, after wiping his mouth and setting his napkin down. “When you offered to cook for me, I gotta admit I was kinda skeptical; but this was seriously good. Don’t tell me you’re leading some sort of Julia Child double life.”

Bucky laughed while trying his best not to preen. 

“Nah, I just had to cook sometimes for my little sister when I was younger, so I watched a lot of Emeril,” he explained, smiling. 

“Emeril huh,” Sam said, smiling back.

“Yeah, so what do you say we kick it up a notch?”

“Oh my God,” he replied, laughing. “You’re so damn corny. And,” he went on, as he stood up from the table. “As much as I hate to eat and run, I should probably get going.”

“Come on,” Bucky said, standing up as he began to gather their dishes. “You can’t drive on a full stomach. You have to wait like an hour or something.”

“That’s swimming, Barnes.”

“Is it?” Bucky said, innocently. “Well, my overall point still stands.”

“And that is?”

“Just cause the movie’s over and dinner is done, doesn’t mean you have to go,” Bucky replied. “I can put on some music, and there’s plenty of wine left.”

“I don’t know…” Sam said, but Bucky could tell he was waffling. 

“Stay, Sam. Please.”

“Okay, some music would be nice, but just for a little while,” he said, heading over to the couch and plopping down. “And I better not hear anything from after like 2012 either.”

Bucky snorted, and reached for his phone to connect it to his speaker. 

“Okay, grandpa. That’s oddly specific.”

Sam shrugged, a tiny self-deprecating smile on his face. “Yeah, sorry. I sort of tapped out on new music a while ago. I can’t keep up with it.”

“Here, I think I’ve found just the playlist for you.”

“Jodeci!” Sam exclaimed, as he recognized the first few notes of the song. “What the hell do you know about Jodeci?” He joked, chuckling a little.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I was a teenager during the ‘90s too, Wilson. Besides, I’m pretty sure Becca had a shirtless poster of one of them hanging on her wall. It drove my Ma nuts.”

Now Sam was full on laughing. “Shoot it could’ve been any one of them, except maybe JoJo. I swear he’s the only one who ever wore a shirt.”

“Man,” Sam went on, shaking his head a little. “This song brings back memories. First school dance I ever went to — had to be 8th or 9th grade, I think — I slow danced for the first time to this song.” 

“Misty Knight,” he went on, fondly. “She was one of the baddest girls in our class, and she marches right up to me, bold as anything, and asks if I wanted to dance. I damn near tripped over my own feet I was so excited.”

“Well,” Bucky said, walking back towards Sam. “Nobody ever said I was the baddest guy in class, but…”

 _Somehow I doubt that,_ Sam thought to himself.

“Will you dance with me, Sammy?” He asked, nervously, extending a hand in Sam’s direction. 

Bucky knew he was pushing it. Knew that slow dancing in his condo in no way fell under the friendship banner. But seeing Sam sitting on his couch, looking so relaxed and frankly, at home, was making his heart beat in overtime.

Hell, it was making him reckless.

Because he didn’t care if it was out of line. Sam gave him the perfect opening, so he had to ask. When would he get such a chance again?

He saw the hesitation on Sam’s face clear as day, and he almost decided to play if off as a joke. But his good sense had apparently already left him completely, so he tried one more time.

“Come on, sweetheart. You know you want to. And If you wait too much longer the song will be over,” he added with as enticing a smile as he could muster.

Truth be told, Bucky was absolutely right. Even though it had literally never crossed his mind before, in that moment, Sam wanted nothing more than to slow dance with Bucky. He was suddenly insanely curious about what it would be like to be held in Bucky’s arms for an extended period of time. 

And _that_ is why he hesitated. 

Given the way he was feeling, he knew there’d likely be nothing _friendly_ about this, knew it would be crossing a line. 

But, in the end, he also knew that he didn’t have the resolve to deny himself this opportunity.

“Okay, James,” he said, standing up to join the other man. “Okay.”

Bucky let out a shaky breath; he was nervous as hell. But he refused to mess this up. Tentatively, he reached out and placed his hands upon Sam’s waist. 

Sam made a couple of abortive movements with his own hands, almost as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them, before taking a deep breath and winding his arms around Bucky’s neck. He felt like he’d lose all his nerve if he had to look in Bucky’s eyes while they did this, so instead he rested his head on his shoulder.

And, sure, it was a little awkward at first, but as soon as they started swaying to the music, all of the tension seeped out of Sam and he let himself relax. 

It felt good being this close to Bucky — peaceful and exciting. Sam was so comfortable in Bucky’s embrace that he closed his eyes and let his mind drift, only coming back to himself when he heard Bucky speak up.

“Hey, Sam,” he whispered, but then abruptly cut himself off. He knew what he wanted to say: _You feel it too right, this thing between us?_ But he knew he couldn’t do that to Sam, knew it wouldn’t be fair. 

Bucky figured that basically asking Sam if he had feelings for him when he hadn’t even told Sam the truth about everything — the truth about Steve — would make him just as big an asshole as his best friend. So, for the time being, he’d refrain from asking heavy questions, hold Sam tighter, and thank God for any piece of Sam or his time that he was able to have.

“Hey, what?” Sam asked when Bucky never continued.

“I was just gonna ask for one more dance,” Bucky fibbed easily, as _Love U 4 Life_ melted into _Because You Love Me._

“Celine Dion? Really?” Sam asked, and even though Bucky couldn’t see his face, he could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“Give me a break, Wilson. I literally opened Slacker, clicked on a random year’s playlist, and pressed start.”

“It’s fine,” Sam said, giving him a squeeze as he chuckled a bit. “This is… nice.”

Nice didn’t even begin to cover it as far as Bucky was concerned. Having Sam in his arms like this was pure bliss. But he kept his cool and simply replied:

“Yeah, it really is.”

He kept quiet during the song and just savored the press of Sam’s body against his own. But it was over all too soon and a fast song he vaguely remembered started playing. As much as Bucky would’ve loved to feel Sam grinding against him as they moved to a faster number, he knew that would be asking way too much, so he simply led Sam to the couch and went to pour them some more wine.

“This is my last one,” Sam warned, when Bucky pressed the wine glass into his hand. “I really should get going soon.”

“Sure, doll,” Bucky replied, as he sat down next to him, far closer than what was probably appropriate. “Whatever you say.”

******

Almost an hour later and instead of being home tucked up in his bed, Sam was still at Bucky’s house. Now tucked up under the other man’s arm, listening to 90s throwbacks, while they traded stories back and forth.

”Pfft,” Bucky said, sliding Sam a look. “I don’t believe you.”

“Swear to God, I only cut class one time.”

“I’m calling bullshit, Wilson. Even a goody two shoes like you had to have ditched more than once.”

“My mom always knew half the teachers at every school I attended. I couldn’t get away with shit,” Sam said, laughing. 

“Besides,” he went on, shrugging lightly. “I didn’t like getting in trouble.”

Bucky shook his head. “Man, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I would’ve loved the chance to corrupt you in high school. I bet I could’ve coaxed you out of class like that,” he said, snapping his fingers.

“I don’t know. That one time I did cut, I was nervous as hell the whole time. I kept thinking I was gonna run into my parents even though I knew they were both at work.”

“Tell me you at least did something fun, went to somebody’s basement and got drunk or something.”

Sam snorted, and lifted an eyebrow as if to say, _do you know who you’re talking to?_

“We went to see _The Matrix,_ grabbed a chopped cheese afterwards, and then I went home.”

Bucky fell out laughing. “Jeez, even when you’re being bad, you’re a saint about it.”

“Shut up,” Sam said, grinning too, and went to swat Bucky on the chest, but Bucky grabbed his hand and held it.

“I think it’s cute though. I think _you’re_ cute.”

“And I think you’re a ridiculous flirt,” Sam countered, as he gently pulled his hand away. 

“Ridiculous? Maybe. But sincere nonetheless,” he replied, sending him a wink.

“Well, thanks,” Sam replied, laughing lightly, as he eased out from under Bucky’s arm. 

The flirting was always fun, but doing it while Bucky was pretty much holding him in his arms felt like a bit much.

“I should really probably head on out though,” Sam said, reaching for his keys on the end table. “I can tell you must be a night owl, but some of us actually need sleep to function.”

“If you’re that tired, you can always stay here,” Bucky said, mischievously. 

“Yeah, I bet Steve would love that,” Sam replied automatically, without really meaning to. He hadn’t thought much about Steve all night.

It wiped the playful look right off Bucky’s face and had him standing immediately though. Not that he thought Sam would ever spend the night, but Bucky felt bad for even suggesting it after the talk he’d had with Natasha earlier. He didn’t want to cause any trouble for Sam. 

“Sorry,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “I probably shouldn’t play like that huh?”

“You _always_ play like that,” Sam said, sounding mildly confused. 

“At this point it’d be weird if you didn’t,” he added, jokingingly, as he bumped Bucky’s shoulder. 

A smile slowly spread across Bucky’s face. “You like it when I flirt with you all the time,” he said, knowingly. “You’d miss it if I stopped.”

“Oh my God,” Sam said, rolling his eyes, but there was a faint blush on his face. “Just walk me to the door will you.”

Bucky was smirking, but he nodded along and followed Sam to the front door and stepped outside with him.

“Thanks for tonight, Barnes,” Sam said, giving him a smile. “I had fun and dinner was delicious. I guess next time it’s my turn to cook huh?”

“Or you could just let me take you out,” Bucky said. Then rushed to add, “to a friendly place, I mean. Nothing romantic.”

“Right.” Sam’s lips twitched with amusement. “Well, talk to you later,” he said, before reaching out to give Bucky a hug that he enthusiastically returned. 

“Later, man,” Bucky said, after stepping back.

Sam headed towards his car, but turned back at the last minute and said, “Hey, Barnes.”

“Yeah?”

“I’d miss it,” he called with a grin, before getting into his car and driving away.

Bucky would never admit it, but he stared after Sam for a few minutes, a goofy smile upon his face the entire time. 

He only turned away when he heard heavy footfalls approaching from the other side of the sidewalk.

He was probably more surprised than he should’ve been to see Clint standing there.

“Hey, man,” Clint greeted him, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else on the planet at that moment. “We need to talk.”

******

“So,” Bucky said, when he couldn’t take the strained silence any longer. “Are you gonna actually talk, or just sit around making faces at me all night?”

They’d been sitting in Bucky’s living room for five minutes while Clint gave him just about the most judgemental look he’d ever seen, and frankly Bucky had had enough.

“Are you fuckin’ him?”

“No,” Bucky snapped.

“But you wanna be, right?”

“That’s really none of your business.”

Clint snorted. “You have no idea how much I wish that were true.”

“Well, it’s your lucky day then, cause I’m telling you officially, right here and now, it’s none of your _damn_ business.”

“Okay, but is it Steve’s business?” Clint asked, sarcastically. “Cause I think he’d be interested to know you spent half the night slow dancing with his boyfriend and the other half trying to feel the guy up on your couch.”

“Is that what you’re planning on telling him?” Bucky asked flatly, while inside he was kind of losing it now that he knew just what Clint had seen.

“No,” Clint replied, sounding irritated. “I’m gonna tell him that you two watched a movie, ate dinner, and listened to the world’s most eclectic mix for a while.”

Bucky blinked; he was kind of surprised. Sure Clint was a good dude and one of his oldest friends, but he was also one of Steve’s oldest friends. So, really, Bucky hadn’t known what to expect.

But if Clint was willing to be cool about all this, Bucky figured he better press on.

“You won't follow Sam anymore either — you’ll leave him alone?” 

Clint’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded after a moment. 

“Fine. If Steve asks me to do anything like this again, I’ll conveniently be busy, or I’ll just cover for you — I guess,” he said, grudgingly.

Bucky exhaled deeply. “Thank you.”

“Well, you sign my checks too.” Clint sighed. “Besides, we’re all friends, man. It’s not really like I owe one of you more loyalty than the other.”

“But just… just think about what you’re doing,” he pleaded. “Their relationship may be built on the weakest foundation ever, and Steve may be in the running for the worst boyfriend ever, but he’s your best friend and he loves Sam… in his own way,” he finished, grimacing a little. “This isn’t gonna just disappear, whether I’m involved or not.”

“I know that,” Bucky said, tone clipped. “And I swear to you, we’re not messing around. It’s not even about that. I… I—

“Stop.” Clint held his palms up. “The less I know, the better. Just… get this under control, or come clean to Steve. Whatever. Just do _something_ before this thing blows up in all our faces,” he said, standing up. 

“And ask yourself: is Wilson even worth all this trouble?”

“Yes,” Bucky replied without hesitation.

Sam was worth anything. And, even if he didn’t have feelings for him, it was plain to see that Sam was a good man. A decent upstanding man. The kind of man other people should aspire to be. He was the last person who deserved to be fucked over by Steve. 

“Yeah,” Clint said, nodding his head as he headed towards the door. “I figured you’d say that.” 

Because while Clint may not have had the complete picture of everything that was going on, he knew Bucky well enough to know that he wouldn’t be risking his friendship with Steve over nothing.

“Hey man,” he said, turning back. “Just tell me, he’s hung, right?”

“What?” Bucky said, stuttering out a surprised laugh. 

“Steve’s apparently been obsessed with this guy from jump, now you’re sprung too.” He shrugged. “I know he’s hot and all, but what am I missing?”

“I don’t know,” he said, feeling himself flush a little. “He’s just… special is all.”

“I certainly hope so,” Clint mumbled to himself, as he went ahead and walked out the door. 

As soon as the other man had gone, Bucky took a deep breath and sort of deflated, sinking back into his recliner. 

_I should’ve known that apology and those tickets weren’t gonna be enough to stop Steve…_

The guy could be like a dog with a bone when he thought he was on to something. 

Bucky was still thankful though. At least Clint has come through for him — been up front with him. He’d have to throw the guy some extra money. 

Nothing was solved exactly, but at least now he had a better idea where Steve’s head was at and time to decide what his next move should be.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated!
> 
> Next up: Bucky and Sam enjoy themselves. Claire’s surprised. And Steve’s a mess.
> 
> Chapter title: Dru Hill


	12. Feenin’

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Sam enjoy themselves. Claire’s surprised. Steve’s a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter 😊

Bucky knew he was being reckless. Again. And if there was a word for something so far past selfish that it was in another category all together, then he could admit he was guilty of that too. But after a sleepless night, tossing and turning, wondering what his next move should be, he’d gotten out of bed this morning and faced the reality of the situation: he had to come clean to Sam — about _everything._

God, he had wanted more time. Time to get to know Sam better. Time to ingratiate himself to the other man. Time to at least give himself a fighting chance in the battle for Sam’s heart. But with Steve’s recent behavior, with him sending people to follow Sam again like he’d apparently done in the very early days of their relationship, Bucky knew his time had run out.

Knowing all that, Bucky realized that him doing what he was doing was completely out of line. Bucky should have called Sam up and told him what was going on, but instead he’d invited Sam out on a date. Hell, he’d practically _begged_ him to come out. Oh, he hadn’t called it a date, but that’s what it was. Plain and simple. He wasn’t even really trying to be subtle anymore. 

Because Bucky knew after he told Sam about all the lies, he’d probably be told to kick rocks (if he was lucky), or punched in the jaw (if he wasn’t). So, he had decided he wanted one more night. One more night of Sam laughing with him and smiling at him, caring about him, and _liking_ him. He wanted one more _good_ night with the other man before it all went to hell.

So he had invited Sam out and then immediately called Clint and told him where they were going and what kind of place it was so Clint could feed Steve some bullshit if he was asked to follow Sam again. Bucky wanted their bases covered; he wanted to be able to enjoy the time they had left.

******

Hours later he and Sam were at The Point. Best table in the house, drinks on their table, delicious food settling in their stomachs, while one of the best cover bands he’d ever heard played in the background. 

So far the night had been perfect, and Bucky hoped it stayed that way, cause it might be their last. 

“This place is really nice,” Sam said, casting an appreciative glance around. “Like rich kids on prom night nice, or anniversary nice. Or,” he paused, and raised an eyebrow at Bucky, “impress somebody on a first date nice.”

Bucky laughed. “Now why would I still be trying to impress you, sweetheart? This is like our sixth date.”

“Shut up,” Sam said, sputtering out a laugh.

“I’m just kidding,” he replied, holding up his hands. “I just wanted tonight to be… nice,” he finished, lamely.

“It is,” Sam assured him, as he nudged his foot softly under the table. “We didn’t even have to wait in that long ass line outside. And as soon as you gave the host your name we were ushered over to what looks like the best table here.”

“It’s kinda weird though,” he continued, curiously. “I mean, when you invited me out tonight it kind of seemed like it was a spur of the moment thing, but we got to skip the line _and_ we got a mysterious complimentary bottle of champagne.”

“It’s really not a big deal, Wilson. I just—

“Know a guy,” Sam finished for him, then started laughing at the look on Bucky’s face. “I’m sorry; I’m just teasing. See every time Steve and I go somewhere particularly nice and we get a little special treatment, whenever I ask about it, Steve tells me he ‘knows a guy’ who works there, usually from school or something.”

Sam tried to keep his tone light while he explained what he found amusing, but he wasn’t sure if he was successful. It wasn’t that he was trying to start anything or sound ungrateful; he really was having a great time. Honestly, he’d only brought it up because he wanted to see what Bucky would say if he did.

All Bucky did was stare at him a moment, before he seemed to brace himself, then reached across the table and grabbed Sam’s hand. Unlike the other times they’d held hands though, he didn’t immediately let go.

“I do know a guy,” he said, then took a deep breath. “But not from school.”

“Okay,” Sam said, trying to sound encouraging.

“The owner of this place,” Bucky continued, looking around the room. “Well, back in the day he used to own a hole in the wall in my old neighborhood. It was a bar and they had a kitchen in the back, but it was basically a dive. The kind of place small social clubs rented out for matinees cause it was cheap,” he explained.

“Anyway, he came into a little money, I think a relative left it to him, and he was trying to turn a little into a lot. So, he kinda became a loan shark,” he said, sighing. “Only he was terrible at picking customers, cause his customers were terrible at paying their debts.”

 _Well, they were borrowing from a loan shark so that much should’ve been obvious,_ Sam thought, but outwardly he just nodded along. 

“I used to go around his place. Bam’s — that’s his name, or what we called him anyway. His place had cheap drinks and a pretty easy going atmosphere, so I hung out there sometimes. Well, one time, I got into it with this guy over a bet on a pool game, and I ended up kicking his ass,” Bucky said, somewhat sheepishly.

“Bam came over after the other guy hobbled off, and I’m thinkin’ he’s gonna kick me out, but he doesn’t.”

“Let me guess,” Sam said, matter of factly. He’d seen enough movies to figure out where this was going. “He hired you.”

“Pretty much,” Bucky replied, looking embarrassed. “Long story short: he asked me to help him pass along… messages to some of his clients. And I did.” He took a deep breath before adding, “I was basically an enforcer.”

“I haven’t done that type of thing for him, or anyone else, in years though,” he rushed to add. “But I have run into Bam from time to time and he always told me to check this place out, said I’d be taken care of if I ever wanted to come.”

“So all the special treatment, it’s all because you used to… beat people up for the owner?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, looking down at the table. There wasn’t really any other way to put it. “Yeah, it is.”

“I was always looking for a way to make money, and Bam knew it,” he said, raising his eyes to meet Sam’s again. “Sometimes he’d give me these… missions.” He shrugged. “I made some decent money and gained a lot of favors in a pretty short amount of time. So, yeah, I know a lot of guys.”

“But you don’t do that stuff anymore?”

“Like I told you at the barbecue: I’m a lover not a fighter,” Bucky said, and attempted a smile.

“Right,” Sam said, nodding to himself. “Right, okay.”

Sam’s head was kind of spinning. _If Bucky used to be a hired goon, what did Steve used to be?_ They grew up together and were partners, so if Bucky used to do that type of stuff, didn’t it stand to reason that Steve did too? 

On the other hand, Sam had all kinds of friends in high school who ended up taking all sorts of paths in their lives. So, he knew it wasn’t always fair to judge people by the company they kept. 

Then again, Sam didn’t work with those friends. Steve did.

But this wasn’t about Steve, this was about Bucky. Sam hadn't even really asked Bucky for details; he had just made a comment, and then Bucky chose to volunteer information about his past. He chose to trust Sam with the type of thing people did _not_ just go around sharing. 

So, even though finding out Bucky used to hurt people for pay was truly trippin’ him out, Sam knew he wouldn’t be holding it against Bucky. 

More importantly, Sam knew it didn’t change how he felt about Bucky. 

Sam was always the type to judge a person by their character and how they treated him, and Bucky had been nothing but good to him. Good and honest. And although it made Sam wonder what it said about him that he was taking the news as well as he was, Sam knew in his heart that, at least in this instance, he didn’t give a damn about what Bucky _used_ to do.

Especially with Bucky sitting across from him looking so nervous, like he was terrified that Sam was going to go running for the hills at any moment.

“Thank you for telling me,” Sam said, squeezing his hand gently. “Seriously, you have no idea how much I appreciate your honesty.” 

Bucky searched his face for a moment, but not finding any sign of the reproach he was expecting, he sighed audibly in relief. Not for the first time, Bucky empathized with how crazy Sam seemed to make Steve — _who wouldn’t lose it over a guy this fuckin’ perfect?_ Sam was amazing, and even if he couldn’t flat out tell him that, Bucky knew he had to say something to let the other man know how he felt.

“Can I tell you something else?” Bucky asked, leaning forward a little.

“Of course,” Sam said, even though the sudden intense look on Bucky’s face was making him nervous.

“In all the years that I’ve had an open invitation, I’ve never brought anybody here. Not a single person. I never cared enough before.”

_Before you._

Oh, Bucky didn’t say it, but they both knew that’s what he meant. 

And with him staring into Sam’s eyes so, quite frankly, passionately, and speaking so earnestly, Sam was having a hard time keeping his own emotions in check. 

He wanted to tell Bucky that he cared about him too. Hell, for a split second, he wanted to close the distance between them and show the other man just how much he cared. 

But, thankfully, he didn’t. Instead, he gave Bucky a smile, gently pulled his hand away and said: 

“I’m glad it was me, James.”

“Me too,” Bucky responded, feeling even more relaxed than he had all evening. He had bit the bullet and told Sam the truth — an ugly truth — and Sam had just rolled with it. Sam accepted the rougher parts of him without pulling away.

Who knew how Sam would react when he told him the truly awful stuff, but at least for now things were still good between them. Maybe even better than good. 

******

Claire was impressed. Even if they were waiting at the bar, nursing a couple of cocktails because their table wasn’t ready when it should’ve been, she was still impressed. Luke bringing her to The Point on their first date, when she knew he didn’t really make The Point money, was a surprise sure, but she appreciated the gesture even if she did think it was unnecessary. She knew what he did for a living, so it wasn’t like she was expecting to be wined and dined like this. But as long as she was there, she was going to enjoy it.

With that in mind, Claire turned halfway on her stool to see the band better. They were playing some old Lisa Fischer song and they were playing the hell out of it. She wanted to get a glimpse of the singer, but before her gaze reached the stage it was caught by a couple at one of the tables right in front of the platform. 

Sam Wilson, _her_ Sam Wilson, was talking and laughing with a man who was definitely not _his_ man. It wouldn’t have been so odd, she knew Sam had plenty of guy friends, but the body language between Sam and this guy was clearly romantic. Even from where she was sitting — even without hearing their words — she could tell they were flirting. Hell, a blind man would’ve been able to see it.

She wanted to mind her own business, she really did, but that lasted about thirty seconds before it occurred to her: _Sam Wilson has always been my business._

So, she excused herself from Luke and marched right over to their table. They were so caught up in each other that they didn’t even notice her approaching and that just made her smirk harder. 

“Well, don’t you two look cozy,” Claire said, hands upon her hips as she looked down at them. 

When Sam didn’t immediately respond, she sidled closer to his friend and grinned mischievously.

“You must be the infamous Bucky.”

“Infamous,” he repeated, a smirk forming on his own face. “You been talkin’ ‘bout me, Wilson?” He asked.

Sam rolled his eyes, having recovered from his initial shock at seeing Claire. 

“I may have mentioned you in passing… _once_. Claire, this is Bucky.” He gestured between them. “Bucky, this is one of my oldest and best friends, Claire. She works with me at the hospital too.” 

Bucky stood up and grabbed Claire’s hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing it lightly. 

“So is everyone at Metro-General gorgeous, or is it just the two of you?”

“Aren’t you the charmer?” Claire said, then slid Sam a sly look. “No wonder Sammy likes you so much.”

“I like him too,” Bucky said, tone deadly serious, as he took his seat again. “A lot.”

 _Yeah I can see that,_ Claire thought, but kept it to herself. Sam had started to blush at Bucky’s words, but he’d also looked incredibly happy. _Uh oh._

Sam cleared his throat, more than ready for a change of subject (even if what Bucky said did make his tummy dip in the best way).

“So, what are you doing here, Claire?”

“I’m on a date.”

“Really?” He asked, slightly surprised. Claire was more than a little picky. But, to be fair, when you had looks and a personality like hers, you could afford to be.

“Don’t sound so shocked, boy,” she said, slapping his shoulder lightly.

“I’m not,” he responded, laughing a little. “I just know how you can be.”

“Anyway,” she drawled, rolling her eyes. “I just wanted to stop by and say hi.” _And make sure what I thought I was seeing was what I was actually seeing._

“I better get back to my date though.” _And let you get back to yours._ She turned to Bucky and said, “It was nice to meet you.” 

“You too,” he replied, honestly. 

Even if Claire had only said it to mess with Sam, she’d let him know that Sam at least thought about him enough to talk about him to his friends, so Bucky figured he’d probably always like her a little for that alone. 

“Sammy,” she said, leveling the man with a look Bucky couldn’t interpret, but Sam definitely could. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow at work.”

 _I bet you will,_ he thought, but all he said out loud was:

“See you later, baby girl.”

She gave a tiny wave and walked off. Before she was even a good five feet away, Bucky was turning a ridiculously bright grin on Sam.

“So, you told your oldest and best friend about me, huh? Guess that means you must really like me.”

_More than I probably should…_

“You’re alright.” He shrugged, a tiny smile on his face. “I guess.”

“Alright enough for you to dance with me?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said, biting his lip, while inside he was berating himself for even considering the idea. 

The entire evening had already seemed less like two friends going to see a band, and more like two people having a romantic evening out, than Sam had thought it would. Plus there was the fact that he’d let Bucky hold his hand for an inappropriately long amount of time, by anyone’s standards. So, no, he didn’t think accepting Bucky’s offer to dance was the best idea. The last time they’d danced had seemed more impromptu, more organic. This just seemed… unseemly. 

Sam was about to change his “I don’t know” to a flat out “no,” but then he noticed that Bucky’s smile was dimming by the second. And, God, for reasons Sam didn’t even want to examine too closely — at least not at that moment — seeing Bucky so disappointed mere seconds after he’d just looked so happy, made Sam want to do anything to put a smile back on the other man’s face.

Even something he knew was a pretty bad idea (no matter how much he may have wanted to do it too).

“Okay,” Sam said, working up a smile for Bucky. “One dance, but no funny stuff,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood. 

“If you say so, doll,” Bucky said, grin back in place, as he offered Sam his hand. “But I bet you’d love the funny stuff.”

“Shut up,” Sam said, laughing, as he followed Bucky onto the dance floor. 

Unlike the first time they danced together back at Bucky’s place, Sam melted into Bucky automatically. There was no awkwardness as he wrapped his arms around the other man’s neck, no hesitation when he rested his head on Bucky’s shoulder. The way they moved as one to the music came so naturally, like they’d been doing it for years. 

_But then, everything comes naturally with Bucky_ , Sam’s brain supplied. And he was almost struck dumb at just how true that was. Sure, he was a flirt, and yeah, he’d always been quick to make new friends. But this level of closeness — the hugging, and handholding, and _slow dancing_ . The steady texts and non-dates. The soft touches and even softer looks between them — _that_ was not normal for Sam. 

“Can I talk you into another one, sweetheart?” Bucky whispered into his ear, sending a little shiver down his spine. 

“You’ve talked me into everything else. So, sure, why not?” He joked lightly.

Even as his mind screamed: _See, this isn’t normal! Dancing the night away with another man, not for some nostalgic trip down memory lane, but just because is not normal!_

But those thoughts didn’t stop Sam from snuggling in closer to Bucky when his hands drifted just a tad lower on his back and held him just a little tighter.

And, honestly, Sam was just about to shut off his brain, close his eyes again, and enjoy the moment for what it was, when he caught sight of Claire staring at him from across the dance floor where she was swaying to the music with her date.

Her expression was amazingly and unexpectedly blank… for about five seconds, then she raised one perfectly arched eyebrow at him and he almost swallowed his tongue. 

He already knew he was going to get an earful tomorrow and he couldn’t even blame her, because she’d probably seen what he was just starting to realize himself: he had feelings for Bucky Barnes, and they seemed like they were becoming less platonic by the minute. 

******

“So,” Steve said into the darkness, and for the second time in as many weeks, Sam just about had a heart attack.

“Jesus Christ, Steve.” He said, reaching for the light switch. “I know I gave you a key, but a little warning would be nice.”

“You used to like it when I surprised you.”

“Well, you used to be less creepy about it.”

“Sorry,” Steve said, and it sounded off even to his own ears. 

He knew he didn’t really have a reason to be upset. According to the report he’d gotten from Clint, Sam and Bucky had basically sat around eating and talking while the world’s best elevator music cover band played in the background. Clint had said that they sat a normal length apart and hadn’t even danced with each other or anyone else while he was there. To hear him tell it, their behavior had been the picture of two buddies at a club. 

And while hearing all that from Clint had Steve breathing easier and doubting himself for even having Clint tail them, he still felt like Clint must’ve missed something. Because, frankly, those few seconds when Sam had entered his apartment and he couldn’t see Steve but Steve could see him, Sam looked just about the happiest Steve had seen him in a long time. 

And seeing that smile — a smile that used to greet him regularly, but now seemed to be reserved for someone else — had Steve reaching for his drink and knocking back the not insignificant amount of whiskey he had left.

“What are you even doing here?” Sam asked, as he moved closer into the room. “Didn’t you get my voicemail saying I was hanging out with Bucky?”

Oh, he’d gotten it alright. Just ask the hole he’d punched into the wall in his office after listening to it.

“Yeah, but I still wanted to see you tonight,” he said, and his voice definitely slurred a little at the end, but that didn’t stop him from reaching for the half empty bottle on the end table next to him. 

“Thought I’d wait up for you,” he added, as he attempted to pour himself another drink, but half of it ended up on the floor. 

“Christ.”

Sam took a good look at his boyfriend and couldn’t do anything but sigh. 

The whole drive home, Sam had been hyping himself up. He knew he needed to have a talk with Steve, tonight had made that fact abundantly clear. But not at one in the morning. And not while the other man was a drunken mess.

He headed over to Steve, grabbing a dish towel along the way, and bent down to start cleaning up the mess. 

“No, baby. I can do it,” Steve said, leaning forward in his seat. His coordination was still off though and this time when he spilled his drink it got on Sam.

“Steve,” he sputtered, as the liquid ran down his face. 

“God, I’m sorry,” Steve said. “Here let me.” 

He started to reach for Sam, but Sam pulled away and wiped his face with his sleeve.

“Just stop,” Sam said, standing up.

He closed his eyes in disbelief and shook his head. _Am I really doing this? Am I really cleaning up after my drunk boyfriend - is that what I’m doing now?_

_No._

He looked over at Steve. “You know what? You _can_ do it. And then you can stay out here and sleep on the couch. I’m not about to be bothered with this or you,” he added, then turned to walk away.

But Steve was quick. He grabbed Sam and pulled him down onto his lap, locking his arms around him in the process.

“Don’t leave,” Steve begged, too much whiskey in his system to care about how he looked or sounded. 

“What?” Sam said, trying to turn in his grip.

“You can’t leave, Sammy. Baby, please. I’ve already lost Peggy, I can’t lose you too,” he said. 

He didn’t even know why he mentioned Peggy. It was like even when he was genuinely upset, he couldn’t let a chance to play on Sam’s kindness slip away. 

“Please, you’re all I have.”

When Sam finally maneuvered enough to get a look at his face, Steve was crying.

Shock didn’t even begin to cover what Sam was feeling. He’d never seen Steve cry — not over Peggy, not over anything.

“Steve, I was just going to my room,” he tried to explain. “I—

Steve cut him off. “I’m losing you, Sam. And I can’t,” he said, fiercely. “ _You can’t,”_ he added, and pulled Sam flush against his chest and buried his face in his boyfriend’s neck. “Please.”

Sam honestly didn’t know what to do. Steve was asking for reassurances he wasn’t willing to make, but it wasn’t like Sam could start the conversation they really needed to have when Steve was like this.

“Steve,” he said, gently. “You gotta let me go, so I can help you, okay?”

Steve didn’t want to, but he loosened his hold on Sam, and settled for gripping the hem of his shirt instead. 

Sam sighed. “I’m just gonna go get you a warm washcloth. I promise I’ll be right back.”

Steve nodded, and let go of Sam's shirt. And it wasn’t long before Sam was back and wiping his face with a rag. 

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” he said, after he had himself a little more under control. 

“It’s okay,” Sam replied, even though this whole thing was so far from okay that he didn’t know where to start. 

“You probably just need to sleep it off. Give me a sec, and I’ll go grab you a blanket.”

Steve’s hand shot out and caught Sam’s before he’d even taken a step.

“I know what you said, but can I sleep with you?” He asked, looking up at Sam from beneath his eyelashes. “Not to — I’m not gonna try anything. I swear. I just need to be close to you. Please, baby.”

He was practically begging, and he looked so sad and pitiful with his tear streaked cheeks and puffy eyes. And, God, Sam knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help feeling bad. While he was out with Bucky having a blast, Steve was here waiting up for him, apparently getting drunker and sadder by the moment. Sam was aware he wasn’t to blame for Steve’s actions, but that didn’t change the fact that he felt guilty.

“Okay,” he agreed, reluctantly. “But—

“Thank you,” Steve interrupted, as he stood up quickly and wrapped Sam up in another hug. It took a moment, but Sam eventually (if haltingly) returned it.

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Sam said, sounding tired. “Let’s just go to bed.”

As Steve trailed behind Sam, clutching his hand, Steve couldn’t help but feel slightly satisfied with himself. Sure, he’d been genuinely upset. And, no, he hadn’t intentionally cried in front of Sam. But once he’d thought to bring up Peggy and saw how soft and instantly gentle Sam had become, Steve knew he wasn’t getting put out — knew he wasn’t even going to have to sleep on the couch. 

He may have been hanging on to Sam by a string, but he still had him, and he’d use whatever means necessary to keep him.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated!
> 
> Next up: Sam and Claire have a talk. Sam and Bucky have *the* talk.
> 
> Chapter title: Jodeci


	13. Never Keeping Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Claire have a talk. Sam and Bucky have *the* talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos!

Sam awoke disoriented and still feeling exhausted, even though he’d managed to sleep in far later than he usually did. Steve was nowhere in sight, and even though Sam had gone to bed determined to talk to Steve first thing in the morning, he was glad the other man wasn’t in bed with him. Sam wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to fix his expression and keep it free of the disdain he felt if Steve’s face had been the first thing he saw when he woke up.

Sighing, Sam figured he’d better get on up and hash things out with Steve, once and for all. However, when he walked down the hallway and out into the open area, Steve was clearly gone. Steve’s glass from the previous evening was washed and sitting in the dish drain, the nearly empty Jack Daniels bottle was sitting on the kitchen counter, and a note in Steve’s neat handwriting was taped to the refrigerator:

_ I’m sorry, baby. I really don’t even know what to say other than I’m sorry and I swear you won’t have to see me like that again. I had to run because of a work emergency, but I’m gonna make this up to you. I promise. Love you, Sammy. _

“A work emergency?” Sam said out loud to himself, and then crumpled the note up and threw it away. “Yeah, right.”

Steve may not have known what to say, but Sam sure did. He could only hope that he’d still have his nerve, even when his annoyance with Steve’s latest antics weren’t so fresh in his mind. 

******

“I was gonna text you last night as soon as I got home,” Claire said, as she sat down across from Sam in the break room. “But then it occurred to me that Steve seems like just the type of person who’ll go through your phone and I know you’re naive enough to not believe in having a password, or deleting texts, so I thought better of it.”

“Okay,” Sam drawled, clearly puzzled.

“Anyway,” she said, as she reached into his bag of Doritos and snatched a couple. “I was wrong that night at Sarah’s house: you  _ definitely _ have a side piece.” 

Sam choked on his drink, but she kept right on talking while he coughed and sputtered.

“I mean, you may not be sleeping with him. Hell, I know you well enough to know that you two probably haven’t even kissed, but that man is definitely your sideline ho.”

“Claire,” he hissed, but she ignored him. 

“First of all, I don’t know what you’re telling yourself to make it okay, but that was a date. You two were  _ clearly _ on a date,” she said.

“Claire,” he tried again. 

She still wasn’t done though.

“His texts have you grinning like a fool, and y’all hang out on the regular. In fact, didn’t you tell me he cooked for you the other night?” She asked, then kept talking without waiting for a response. “Now he’s wining and dining you in public?”

She shook her head. “No, boy. Call him what you want, but he’s your boyfriend number two,” she said, in a singsong voice.

“Are you done?” He asked, when she finally paused to take a breath. “You finished? Gonna let me talk now?”

“First of all, Bucky’s not my side- _anything_ , he’s my friend,” he snapped. 

“But,” he said, after a pretty significant pause. “I think I am into him.”

“Well, he is fine as hell,” she said, sympathetically, hating how guilty he sounded.

“Baby girl, it ain’t even that,” he responded, shaking his head slightly before laughing lightly. “I mean, that helps. But he’s just a really great guy. So nice, ridiculously sweet, and he can be so silly and fun. Spending time with him… it’s just — it’s  _ good _ ,” he said, shrugging.

Okay, so that all sounded slightly more serious than she had actually expected, but if that’s how Sam felt, then it cleared up a lot of things. 

“Sammy,” she paused, and took a deep breath, “think about how you just described things with Bucky, and then I want you to remember what you told us about Steve. Seems like maybe you’re dating the wrong guy,” she said, matter of factly.

Sam almost snorted. “I’m dating the wrong guy. Period. I could never even have met Bucky and that’d still be true.”

Claire’s eyes widened. “Wait, does that mean—

“It means I heard what you guys were trying to tell me the other night,” he cut in. “It means I know what I have to do — what I  _ want  _ to do.”  _ Especially after that weird mess last night.  _ “I just haven’t done it yet.”

“Any reason why not?” She asked curiously, because from what little she knew, Steve’s ass should’ve  _ been  _ gone.

_ Well, Fury’s got us working like dogs lately and when I do get free time, I’ve been spending it with Bucky. And, maybe we could’ve talked this morning, but he was gone by the time I woke up and he was too drunk for it last night,  _ he thought, sighing. 

“There’s a lot of reasons. Good ones,” he clarified, “so don’t even give me that look. As soon as our schedules sync up I’m going to talk to him. I’m just… I just feel… bad. He’s been pretty clear about the fact that he wants me and will take it badly if I leave him, and despite what he’s done and what I  _ suspect  _ he’s done, I don’t want to hurt him.”

“I know, honey. You don’t want to hurt anyone, that’s just the kind of guy you are.” She gave him a soft smile. “Remember when we broke up? You took it so hard even though it was mutual. You’re a sensitive guy, a  _ nice _ guy. I don’t want to gas you up anymore than you already are, but you’re probably the nicest guy I’ve ever been with.”

“But just because you’re a sweetheart and you don’t want to hurt Steve, that doesn’t mean you should put it off any more than you absolutely have to. Trust me, his reaction will likely only get worse the longer y’all are together.”

“You’re right.” Steve’s behavior last night had made that abundantly clear. “I’m gonna take care of this as soon as possible,” Sam said, and it sounded like a promise.

Because, honestly, he couldn’t have another night like last night. The bad was outweighing the good, by a lot. And even though Steve had told him how much he needed him — even though Steve had professed his love for him yet again — last night had been the nail in the coffin. 

Steve was stressful. Steve and his motivations couldn’t be trusted. And the next time he saw Steve, Sam planned to let him know.

******

Steve may have said he thought Sam was avoiding him the other day, but Sam  _ knew _ Steve had been avoiding him for the past few days. When he got home from work the day after Steve’s drunken freak out, there was a vase full of roses sitting on his coffee table along with a box of Gurkha cigars. The box itself had looked so fancy that Sam did something he knew was tacky and typically never would’ve done and googled the price — when he saw it, he almost dropped his phone. He’d told Steve plenty of times before that expensive gifts weren’t the way to apologize, but Steve apparently hadn’t gotten the message.

Sam couldn’t bring himself to  _ not  _ thank Steve for the gifts, but he didn’t want to talk to Steve until they could do it in person. So, he sent a thank you text, and then quickly followed it up with a “we need to talk” text, but Steve gave him some song and dance about still dealing with his work emergency.

That was followed by a couple of days of him trying to get Steve to come over, while Steve dodged him. It wasn’t subtle. At all. But Sam figured one of two things was happening: either Steve had a feeling what was coming and was trying to prolong the inevitable, or he was up to something. What that something might be, Sam could only imagine. 

That’s why when Steve texted Sam on the third day of near radio silence, and announced that he would be coming over that evening because he had a surprise for him, Sam immediately replied “sounds great” and then broke every traffic law known to man to get home as quickly as possible, so that he could prepare for Steve’s arrival.

He pulled out a couple of old boxes he had in his storage closet, and started packing Steve’s stuff. The emergency suit Steve kept in Sam’s closet. The watch and cufflinks Steve had left on his dresser, the sweatpants and old throwback Dodgers t-shirt he wore to sleep in. And the gym shorts and couple of spare outfits he kept around the house in case he didn’t have time to pack an overnight bag before sleeping over. Sam didn’t think twice about throwing all that stuff in a box.

But it was the other items — the gifts — that Sam wasn’t so sure about giving back. It wasn’t that he particularly wanted to keep them. Sam was a grown man with a full time job who still had a little insurance money sitting in the bank and a healthy savings account. If there was something he really wanted, he could buy it for himself. However, he didn’t want to seem like he was on some petty high school shit by giving Steve his gifts back. It certainly wasn’t like he expected or wanted Steve to return anything he’d given him.

Sam did kind of want to get rid of the painting though. The way Steve gave it to him never did sit right with him. The artwork may have been beautiful, but every time Sam looked at it now all he saw was evidence that Steve had probably been manipulating him at the time he received it. There was also that damn box of cigars. Sam just couldn’t fathom keeping a thousand dollar gift then turning around and breaking up with the giver. So, in the end, the cigars and all the other items he’d received went into a box, and the painting was taken off the wall. 

Turns out, Sam didn’t care how petty it appeared, he just couldn’t keep the stuff.

Sam was moving the last box over by the door, when he heard persistent knocking. He couldn’t fathom who it could be. Steve would have used his key, and Sam wasn’t expecting anyone else. He had half a mind to ignore whoever it was, because the last thing he was in the mood for was company, but when the banging grew louder he sighed and opened the door. 

“Bucky,” Sam exclaimed, clearly surprised. “What are you doing here?”

What was he doing there? Well, when Clint called him an hour ago with the news that Steve had him pick up something from the jewelry store, something that Clint had the foresight ( _ thank God _ ) to open the gift bag and peek at and see was a ring, Bucky knew the time for stalling was over. Especially when he remembered that the Yankees game he’d given Steve tickets to was that night. 

Bucky’s head was swimming with visions of Steve doing one of those weird ass public proposals that he’d always thought were romantic. Sure, Bucky had told Steve he should make a nice gesture to win Sam over again, but  _ that  _ certainly hadn’t been what he meant. It was just the kind of outrageous thing Steve would do though. 

So, yeah, Bucky had stopped what he was doing and drove like a bat out of hell to get to Sam’s place, hoping Sam would still be there, hoping Steve wouldn’t be.

“It’s not really a good time right now,” Sam continued, when Bucky didn’t respond. “But maybe we—

“Sorry to just drop by like this,” Bucky interrupted, and then literally barged past Sam and into his apartment. “But I need to talk to you.”

Sam wanted to talk to him too, but  _ after  _ he took care of this thing with Steve.

“Man, I wish you would’ve called first. I’m kind of in the middle of something right now, but maybe we can hook up tomorrow?” Sam tried, as he followed Bucky into the living room.

“Wait,” Bucky said, when he noticed the boxes on the ground and the painting leaning against them. “What’s all this? You moving or something?” He joked lightly, while inside his nerves tightened even more.

_ Am I too late? Did he accept Steve’s proposal? _

Bucky’s mind was racing, and jumping to all sorts of conclusions. And it was making him nervous for a whole new set of reasons. 

“No, just taking some stuff over to Steve’s place,” Sam answered, trying to be vague. 

He figured it’d be a pretty big dick move to tell Steve’s best friend he was breaking up with him and wanted his stuff gone, before he actually bothered to tell Steve.

“Why?” Bucky demanded, and Sam’s eyes widened at the harshness of his tone. 

“That’s not really any of your business,” Sam replied, clearly annoyed.

“Please, Sam,” Bucky said, taking the edge out of his voice. “What is this — what’s going on? Are you… you’re not… moving in with him are you?”

“What? No. I’m,” he paused and gave a deep sigh, before continuing, “breaking up with him. This is Steve’s stuff,” he explained, gesturing to the boxes. “I just figured I ought to have it ready when he comes by so we can make a clean break of it.”

“Wait —  _ what _ ?” Bucky asked, shock ringing from his words.

“I was gonna tell you… eventually, but I really wanted to tell Steve first,” Sam said. And, frankly, he was kind of put out that things already weren’t going as planned.

“So, you have your answer. Now are you ready to tell me why you showed up here out of the blue acting all weird?” Sam asked, hands upon his hips, as he stared at Bucky.

And for a long moment, Bucky was torn. For some reason, Sam breaking up with Steve without knowing the complete truth, hadn’t occurred to him. Sure, he’d told Steve that it was a miracle that Sam hadn’t broken up with him, but when Sam didn’t call it quits after the party, Bucky was pretty sure it’d take something especially egregious to get Sam to pull the plug. So, that begged the question: had something else happened?

It also had Bucky wondering if he needed to even say anything at all. He could make up some excuse for why he’d come by, and then walk out a (somewhat) innocent bystander. Sam would end things with Steve without Bucky having to see his pretty brown eyes gaze upon him with a look of disgust once he learned that Bucky had been complacent in his betrayal. 

He could keep his mouth shut and keep the thirty plus years of friendship he shared with Steve more or less intact. (For the time being anyway.)

A lifetime of scheming had Bucky seriously weighing his options. He could commiserate with Steve, while keeping up his friendship with Sam. Talk Sam through the breakup, while at the same time sharing more and more of his past with Sam. Maybe he could even tell Sam about all the dirt he’d done and was doing and manage to keep Steve’s name out of it. Maybe they could develop an open and healthy relationship, and he could still manage to keep Steve’s secrets.

_ Yeah, and maybe pigs will fly,  _ Bucky thought and had to resist the urge to shake his head at his own stupidity. There was no way he was going to have a healthy  _ anything  _ with Sam if he continued on this path of deceit. It wouldn’t make him as bad as Steve, it would make him worse.

And with that in mind, he looked up at Sam, who was now staring at him with a mixture of confusion and concern. 

“Bucky, are you okay?” Sam asked softly, as he walked closer to him. “You’re all flushed. Is something wrong?”

_ Is something wrong?  _ Bucky thought, as a little hysterical laugh bubbled out of his throat. 

“I don’t even know where to start, sweetheart.”  _ Cause no matter how I say it you’re gonna fuckin’ hate me. _

Sam was at a complete loss. He had spent most of the day since he received Steve’s text, amping himself up. Getting his head in the right place to break up with his boyfriend. And now Bucky was here, clearly out of it, and all Sam wanted to do was focus all of his attention on him. He knew he didn’t have time for this; Steve would be there soon. But he also knew that he couldn’t make Bucky go, not like this.

“Okay,” Sam said, nodding, more to himself than to Bucky. “Maybe you should sit down a minute,” he added, and sort of nudged Bucky onto the couch. “Can I get you something to drink — water, beer?”

Bucky let out a ragged breath and rubbed a hand over his face. “Got anything stronger, doll?”

Sam gave him an odd look, but still headed over to the kitchen and pulled out his bottle of Remy. 

“You may want to get a glass for yourself too,” Bucky said, and he didn’t miss the worried look that passed over Sam’s face even if he did ultimately reach for a second tumbler. 

He brought the items over to the coffee table, sat down on the other end of his couch, and poured them each three fingers of cognac. 

“Okay,” he said, turning to face Bucky. “Can you please tell me what’s going on now?”

“You grew up pretty nice, right?” He blurted out, and if someone had asked him right at that moment who was more surprised — him or Sam — he honestly wouldn’t have been sure of the answer. 

But if this was how his brain chose to start things, then he figured he’d lean into it.

“I mean, your dad is a pastor, your mom’s a teacher. You played sports and stuff. I’ve noticed the pictures hanging up,” he said, glancing around. “You look popular, healthy, happy.” 

Sam’s eyebrows were just about at his hairline. He had no idea where this was going, but he answered anyway.

“Yeah, man, I guess.” He gave an almost defensive shrug. “I mean, teachers are underpaid as hell, and my dad isn’t one of those mega church preachers; he has a neighborhood church. But, sure, we did fine. Sarah and I had all of what we needed and most of what we wanted.”

Bucky nodded, “I figured as much. So, okay, how much has Steve told you about how it was for him growing up?”

Sam shrugged again, not really comfortable sitting around discussing Steve, especially now. But, once again, he responded. 

“Not a lot, I guess. I know his father died when he was really young, and his mom was kind of sick so they had… a tough time of it sometimes,” he said tactfully.

Bucky let out a short bark of laughter and shook his head a little.  _ Of course. Of course Steve even stretched the truth about this. _

“Yeah, no.  _ My  _ family had a tough time,” he said. “During the best times we pretty much lived paycheck to paycheck, then when my father died we were doing even worse than that. It was bad, Sammy. But compared to the Rogers we might as well have been the Cleavers.”

“Mrs. Rogers was always sick.  _ Always.  _ She worked as much as she could, but she never had a job that paid a living wage and it wasn’t like her health would’ve ever allowed her to work a full schedule even if she did. Sure, she was on benefits — our  _ whole  _ block was on one type of benefit or the other, but as much as some people like to pretend otherwise, the social services programs in this country aren’t that great.”

He reached over and took a long sip of his drink before speaking. 

“I’m not trying to give you a sob story or make any excuses for what I’m about to tell you.  _ I’m not _ ,” he stressed. “I just want you to have some context. We were broke and hungry, and people do all sorts of stuff when they’re hungry. And once you start getting money, you never want to stop.”

“Bucky,” Sam said, giving him an encouraging look, even if a tiny part of him was slightly annoyed that Bucky felt the need to preach to him about how rough people could have it. “I understand all that. I know everyone didn’t grow up how I did. So whatever it is you’re gearing up to say, please just tell me already.”

Bucky took a deep breath, looking just about as pained as Sam had ever seen him look, and then said: “Steve — I mean, Steve and I both… It’s drugs, Wilson. We sell drugs,” he mumbled, wincing. 

“I mean, we’ve done a lot of stuff — we  _ still  _ do other stuff occasionally — but most of our money comes from drugs. The hard stuff,” he clarified, giving Sam a significant look. “The bar, the auto shop, the entire reason we even own those is to launder the money.”

To say Sam looked taken aback, would’ve been the understatement of the year. But Bucky refused to allow himself to think about that. He had to keep talking. He had to tell Sam everything; he deserved to know.

“Oh we sell booze and we fix cars, but we also sell drugs, maybe not as much as we used to, but we sell them. And that’s how we clean the money. You… uhh clear more profit if you do it yourself,” he explained, and then felt stupid for saying it. 

_ Like Sam gives a damn about our profit margin. Jesus.  _

“So when Steve told me he sold a little weed sometimes…” Sam said, slowly. 

“Well, weed really is a gateway drug,” Bucky said, with a humorless laugh. “But more for the dealer than the buyer.”

“Right, okay,” Sam mumbled, voice low enough that Bucky figured he was likely talking to himself. 

From the worried expression on Bucky’s face, Sam could only assume that he looked as dumbfounded as he felt. Because while he may have already reconciled himself to the fact that Steve was a liar, this new information — dope and money laundering — was a bit much. 

_ So please excuse me while I process the fact that I had fuckin’ Scarface all up in my house and all up in my bed and didn’t even know it. _

And, okay, Sam wasn’t an idiot nor was he naive. It wasn’t like he expected drug dealers to go around introducing themselves to people as such, but still… He had given Steve countless opportunities to come clean about how he made his money and apparently Steve had never even come close to telling him the complete truth. 

Sam knew extreme poverty drove people to extreme measures, so he understood why the drug game was a thing. But he had a lot of opinions about hard drugs: how crack had swept through the community, how the incredibly racist mandatory minimum laws had followed and tried their best to destroy what was left of said community, how nobody seemed to care much about helping opioid addicts until it became a problem in upper class White communities. And he kind of wore those opinions on his sleeve, so he knew why Steve lied, but that didn’t change the fact that he was livid.

Besides, Steve may have been poor once, but he was doing well enough to afford ridiculously expensive apology gifts, so why was he still even in the game? Frankly, Sam probably could’ve kept going over this new information in his mind for hours, but Bucky was still staring at him, now looking more scared than worried. 

“Ummm,” Bucky began, cautiously. “There’s other stuff you should know too.”

“About the business?” 

Bucky grimaced.  _ Well, that too.  _

“Soooo sometimes we use the body shop as a chop shop,” he said, and Sam had the oddest urge to laugh. 

“Of course you do,” Sam said. “I mean, apparently I’m in a bad gangster movie. So, sure, a chop shop makes perfect sense,” he added, sarcasm fairly dripping from his voice. “Anything else I should know?”  _ Should’ve known about a year ago.  _

“Sam, sweetheart, I could go on about all the shit Steve and I— 

_ And I’m betting your weird ass friends too… _

“have done. I could give you a laundry list of all our crimes and if you want to do that later, I’d be glad to. I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” he said, earnestly. “But right now there’s stuff you  _ need  _ to know. Stuff I was too much of a punk to tell you back when I first knew how I felt about you.”

_ How you feel about me? _ Yeah, Sam wasn’t touching  _ that _ with a ten foot pole — at least not now. Instead, he just looked at Bucky expectantly.

“Well, Steve’s not… he’s not exactly…” Bucky trailed off, and the sick look on his face had Sam finally reaching for his own drink.

He knocked it back quickly, grimacing a little at the burn.

“Steve’s not what, James?” He gritted out.

“He’s… he’s not a widow… per se.” 

Whatever Sam had been expecting,  _ that  _ wasn’t it. He just sat there, opening and closing his mouth unintelligibly for a moment, before reaching for the Remy bottle and pouring himself another drink. His hands were shaking so badly that he spilled a little on the table.

“Not a widow per se,” he repeated. “What exactly does that mean? He’s still married? He’s married and Peggy’s somewhere on her deathbed? He’s divorced and just wishes she was dead? I mean,  _ what the fuck does that mean _ ?” Sam asked, looking furious. 

And it had Bucky answering immediately, if bluntly.

“It means, Steve’s not a widow. He’s never been married. Peggy’s a chick he dated for a couple of months back in the day, and as far as I know she’s still alive and kicking and living overseas.”

Sam heard what Bucky was saying, but it was like his brain couldn’t compute the information. 

“No.” Sam shook his head. “No, see, we literally met at a support group for widowers,” he said, then looked at Bucky searchingly. “This isn’t… this can’t—

“Steve was actually there for something else; he thought another group was meeting there.”

“And what?” Sam asked, and he knew he was getting loud, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “He just decided to pretend to be a widower and join that group instead?” 

_ Well, yeah.  _ “Ummm after he saw you, yeah.”

_ What the fuck?  _ “What the fuck, Bucky?”

Bucky shrugged helplessly. He didn’t know what to say. There was no way to frame this in a way that didn’t sound infuckingsane and even if there had been, he didn’t want to sugarcoat anything, especially with Steve’s proposal looming in the distance. Nope. No matter how badly this seemed to be effecting Sam, Bucky knew he needed to get it all out.

“Steve when he sees something he wants —  _ someone  _ he wants — he has the tendency to sort of act without thinking,” Bucky explained, more because he was trying to cushion the blow for Sam than because he was trying to make Steve sound any better than he actually was.

“And he really wanted you,” he continued. “So he made some pretty crappy decisions.”  _ Understatement of the fucking year.  _

“He,” Bucky paused, and rubbed a frustrated hand over his face, before sighing heavily and starting over. “Well, to hear him tell it, when he saw you in that meeting he was so… I don’t know,” he shrugged again, “overcome, I guess it was like a love at first sight thing or something,” he said, and Sam scoffed so loud that Bucky was scared to look up and see what expression was on his face.

But still, Bucky soldiered on.

“And he decided to stay in the meeting so he could be near you.”

Bucky wasn’t positive, but it actually sounded like Sam had gagged at that.

“Anyway,” he said, hurriedly. “There’s a guy who kinda works for us who has the ability to… find out information about people,” he said, as gently as he could. 

And without even being conscious of it, Sam’s brain automatically supplied:  _ Jarvis.  _

“And Steve had him run a background check on me huh?” Sam guessed, as his eyes narrowed even more. “Yeah, I figured as much after the intrusive ass conversation he tried to engage me in at that party.”

“I’m sure he did, but that’s not  _ all  _ he did.”

Sam’s eyes widened, but really he didn’t even know why he was surprised by anything at this point.

“See, he did some… research,” Bucky said, for lack of a better word. “Found out where you live and what type of stuff you like to do, and a couple of the places you like to hang out.” 

“What?” Sam snapped. 

Now Bucky wanted to gag.  _ Somehow it sounds even worse coming out of my mouth than it did when I heard about it. Christ.  _

Sam was upset before, but now he actually felt ill. His stomach was turning with this new information and for a brief moment, he thought his cognac was going to come right back up. 

_ This can’t be _ , Sam thought frantically.  _ This type of thing doesn’t just happen in real life. This type of thing doesn’t just happen to people like me in real life.  _

“So,” Sam said, and then paused and shook his head in bewilderment as if he couldn’t even believe what he was about to say. “So after the first time I met Steve, when I ran into him at the grocery store and then again a couple of times when I was out for a jog — you’re saying he set all that up?”

Bucky gave a tiny nod. “Yeah.”

“This is fucking crazy,” Sam said, mostly to himself. “I’m, what — dating my stalker?  _ Oh my fucking God I’m dating my stalker, _ ” he said, sounding completely wrecked.

Sam looked so betrayed. Even worse, he almost looked a little frightened. Bucky couldn’t take it, he reached for Sam, wanting to comfort him, but Sam flinched away.

“Don’t touch me,” Sam bit out.

“Sam, I’m so sorry,” Bucky said, and he felt dangerously close to tears. Oh, he’d known that Sam was going to take it badly, was going to be upset, but having Sam draw away from him sent a tiny crack right through his heart. 

“You have every right to be upset, sweetheart. I know I fucked up.  _ I know that.  _ But, I care about you so much. Doll, you have no idea. I know we—

“Shut up,” Sam interrupted, his head spinning as he put all the pieces together in his mind. “Just shut up. If you really cared about me, you would’ve  _ been _ told me about all this,” he said, accusingly.

“I know I should’ve told you sooner, but—

“How long have you known huh?” Sam cut in, leaning forward a little as he stared daggers at Bucky. “I know you were locked up for most of our relationship, but how long have you known that I thought Steve was a widower too? How long before he told you how he orchestrated our entire relationship?”

God if there was something Bucky wanted to lie about, it was this, but he couldn’t do it. He knew he was done hiding stuff from Sam no matter what it cost him.

“Since the day after I met you,” he admitted.

Sam laughed harshly, as he stood up and began pacing. “I’m such an idiot. This whole time I thought we were actually friends. I thought…” he trailed off and shook his head. “Hell, I don’t know what I thought.”

He didn’t know why Bucky’s deception was hitting him so hard. But knowing that Bucky had kept these things from him hurt almost as bad as Steve actually doing them. No, he hadn’t seen  _ this  _ coming, but finding out that Steve was even more of a liar than he’d originally thought wasn’t exactly a surprise at this point, even if finding out what he was lying about was. 

However, finding out that Bucky wasn’t who Sam thought he was hurt like hell. 

Bucky knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t stop himself from getting off the couch and crowding into Sam’s space.

“We are friends, Sam.  _ We’re more than friends _ ,” he said, fiercely. 

“You need to back the hell up,” Sam ground out. 

“No,” Bucks replied automatically, even though he did take a step back. 

“Please give me a chance to explain, Sammy,” he begged. “As soon as Steve told me what was going on, I told him how messed up it was. I told him more than once that the way he was doin’ you was fucked up. I swear I did. And I wanted to tell you everything—

“But you didn’t, did you?” Sam cut in. “Instead, you sat there flirting with me, holding my hand, putting your arm around me, dancing with me. You let me tell you stuff about my family and private stuff about Riley. You let me start to care about you.”

_ You let me start to fall for you. _

“And the whole time, the whole entire time, you knew I was basically dating my stalker, and you didn’t tell me. You watched Steve treat me like crap and lie to my face and you just went along with it. You’re just as bad as he is.” 

“Sammy, baby, please,” Bucky pleaded, and they were both so upset that neither one of them could even think about that that was the first time he had called Sam baby. “Please don’t say that. Please let’s talk about this,” he said, and reached for Sam again, gently placing his hands upon Sam’s hips. 

“James,” Sam said, taking a shuddering breath, as he forced himself not to lean into Bucky’s touch. Only a few short days ago, Bucky’s embrace was one of the things Sam found most comforting, but he couldn’t bring himself to let Bucky touch him now. Even if part of him still craved it.

“Sam, come on,” Bucky said. “We can work this out.”

“Work what out?” An unwelcome, but familiar voice called out from a few feet away. 

_ Great,  _ Sam thought, when he looked past Bucky to see Steve standing in his living room. A couple of gift bags in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other, as he stared at them looking utterly betrayed.  _ Join the club, asshole. _

“Steve,” Bucky greeted flatly, as he turned to face his best friend while not so subtly positioning himself in front of Sam. “What’s going on, man?”

Steve cocked an eyebrow and stepped further into the room.

“I don’t know, Buck. You tell me.”

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated!
> 
> Chapter Title: Babyface


	14. Get Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos! You guys are awesome 😊

“Steve,” Bucky greeted flatly, as he turned to face his best friend while not so subtly positioning himself in front of Sam. “What’s going on, man?”

Steve cocked an eyebrow and stepped further into the room.

“I don’t know, Buck. You tell me.”

His gaze swiveled between his boyfriend and his best friend, and there was no mistaking the accusing glint in his eyes. 

“You had your hands all over what’s mine,” he said, ignoring the rational part of his brain that was telling him that wasn’t exactly true. “While he stands there looking more upset than I’ve ever seen him. So, Bucky, tell me what’s going on,” he demanded.

Sam had never heard Steve’s voice sound quite so menacing, which was outrageous enough. But Steve was also wearing a look on his face that somehow managed to be both self-righteous and sad at the same time — like all his suspicions had been confirmed and he wanted to gloat about it, but also hated that he’d turned out to be right.

 _The balls on this dude,_ Sam thought as he stepped around Bucky. _The balls on both these assholes._

He couldn’t see Bucky’s expression but he could practically feel the tension vibrating off the other man. Bucky’s fists were even clenched at his sides like he was just waiting for Steve to jump tough so he could slug him.

_So much for that whole “I’m a lover not a fighter” song and dance._

Maybe he was being uncharitable or something, but Sam really felt like he was the only one who had the right to be asking any questions at this point. 

“No, Steve. You tell me,” he said, causing Steve to finally stop trying to stare Bucky down and instead turn his attention to Sam. 

“See, going by that pissy look on your face, I guess you seem to think you’ve caught the two of us in something. So, just so there’s not an ounce of confusion about who’s the wronged party here, let me put your mind at ease. I’m not cheating on you, Steve. Bucky and I aren’t messing around. Bucky and I aren’t anything to each other,” he said, flatly, causing Bucky’s stomach to sink even further and Steve to actually perk up a bit.

“So, now that we’ve gotten all that straight,” Sam continued, a fake smile on his face. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on, Steve.”

“Tell me about your not so dead wife who wasn’t actually ever your wife at all,” he continued, as he moved closer. “Or about how your bar and body shop are really fronts for all the dope you sell. Or,” he paused, and folded his arms across his chest, before practically hissing out, “about how you had your creepy ass friend dig up information on me so that you could follow me around and casually bump into me places. Go on, Steve, tell me all about it.”

 _Shit_ , Steve thought. And even though all he wanted to do in that moment was launch himself at Bucky’s snitching ass and beat the shit out of him, he knew he couldn’t. He knew he’d have to play this a certain way if he wanted even a chance at salvaging the situation. 

Steve’s eyes widened in confusion and he approached Sam cautiously.

“Baby, I don’t know what Bucky has been telling you—

“The truth,” Bucky interrupted, stepping a little closer to the two of them. He’d seen Steve use that look to get himself out of trouble all their lives, and even though he didn’t really want to give Steve even more of a reason to be angry with him, Bucky couldn’t sit back and watch him lie to Sam anymore. Not after all the trouble he’d gone through to be honest with Sam.

“I’ve been telling him the truth, Steve. I’m sorry, man,” he said, sincerely, as he looked Steve in the eye. “I really am. But Sam deserved to know.”

Steve reached down deep inside and gathered every ounce of self-control he could muster to keep his innocent expression intact and not attack Bucky.

“Sam,” Steve said, voice deceptively calm. “I don’t know what nonsense he’s been filling your head with or what he’s been trying to convince you of, but I’m sure we can straighten this out.” 

He stepped forward and tried to grab Sam’s hand, but Sam recoiled as if the thought of touching Steve repulsed him.

“Baby, please,” Steve said, brokenly. “We’ve been together a year. Don’t I deserve a chance to at least defend myself? Isn’t what we have at least worth that much?”

Sam knew Steve was on some bullshit. _He knew it._ But there was still a nagging voice in the back of his mind, urging him to at least let Steve explain. Sure, it wouldn’t make a difference in the grand scheme of things — he’d already decided their relationship was over long before he knew about the lies and dope and stalking. But, still, could he just take Bucky’s word for everything? 

Maybe not. But that didn’t mean Sam was prepared to lend any weight to anything Steve had to say either.

“Steve, we don’t have anything. Not anymore. Tell the truth, don’t tell the truth. I don’t even care at this point,” Sam said, squaring his shoulders and meeting Steve’s gaze head on, the defiance clear on his face. 

“We’re through. You need to get your stuff and get out,” he told him, gesturing to the boxes by the door. “And then you need to stay the hell away from me. Tell your people to stay the hell away from me too. I want you out of my life.”

“Well, I want you in my life,” Steve replied, fiercely. “Hell, you _are_ my life,” he added, and began fumbling with the stuff in his hands before ultimately tossing everything except the smallest bag onto the couch. 

“I want to marry you, Sam,” he said, trying to work up some tears while he grabbed the ring box out of the bag. “That’s why I was coming here tonight — that’s your surprise.”

“Steve, it’s over,” Bucky said, even though he knew he should probably keep his mouth shut. 

But he’d barely even gotten the words out before Sam was speaking up.

“No. Finding out you're a lying drug dealing stalker was my surprise,” Sam countered, looking at the ring box like it had all of the appeal of a dead fish.

“Oh my God,” Steve said, the loose control he had over his temper finally starting to crack. “I told you I sold drugs.”

“Weed, Steve. You told me you sold weed sometimes, not that you’re basically Frank Fuckin’ White,” Sam shot back, incredulously. “And, frankly, the drugs are the least of my concern at this point.”

“What — Peggy? Okay, so she wasn’t my wife, but she was my girl. And when she had to leave, it broke me,” he said, this time actually getting some tears to fall. “I felt like she might as well have been dead.”

And, wow... Okay, Bucky had been trying to sit back and be as unobtrusive as possible so that the two of them could have it out. He tried to just be a quiet reassuring presence at Sam’s back. After all, Sam was a grown ass man — he didn’t need help arguing with Steve. Besides, Steve was already probably shitty enough at Bucky, no need to add to it. But, jeez, Bucky just couldn’t let this fairy tale go unchecked.

“Stop,” Bucky said. “Just stop. Peggy wasn’t any more than a regular fuck buddy and you know it.”

“Shut up,” Steve practically spat, through clenched teeth. “I’m talking to my boyfriend.”

“You don’t have a boyfriend,” Sam interjected. “You _had_ a victim. But not anymore. We. Are. Through. I could never be with someone like you. Someone who lies about every damn thing. Someone who runs background checks on me. Someone who follows me,” he said. “Forget about loving you. Man, I don’t even trust you.”

“Why? Cause of some shit a man who clearly wants to fuck you said?” Steve shouted, letting go of his last shred of self-control. 

“I shouldn’t even have to dignify this crap with a response, but I _never_ stalked you. I don’t have a secret closet with long range photos of you covering the walls,” he continued, tone as mocking as he could make it. “I don’t cut colorful letters out of magazines so I can send you anonymous love notes. And I sure as hell never had you followed or followed you myself.” 

Steve lied easily and fiercely, confident that this was one accusation Bucky couldn’t prove. Jarvis, Clint, everyone else — those guys would never sell him out, even if Bucky would. They had too much fear.

“I mean, I bumped into you at the cheapest grocery store in town once, and saw you jogging a couple of times on one of the most popular paths in the city, so now I’m a stalker? Right,” he said, sarcastically.

Steve sounded so adamant, so freaking passionate, that Sam almost wavered. The drugs, the not dead wife who was never actually a wife, those lies were wild enough, sure, but they at least kind of fell into the “stuff people in relationships lie about” wheelhouse. Steve wouldn’t be the first person (or the last) to fudge the truth when it came to their past relationships or how successful they were/how much money they had. And Sam wasn’t aware of any dopeman who went around telling people he was a dopeman. 

But the stalking, well that was some real Lifetime movie shit. And it was creepy as hell. If Bucky was wrong about something, that’s what Sam would want it to be.

“Then why is Clint tailing Sam to this day?” Bucky asked, causing Sam to break out of his thoughts and inhale sharply. “Why was he outside my house spying on us the other night?” 

He hadn’t wanted to mention Clint, but he couldn’t stand the flicker of doubt he’d seen pass over Sam’s face.

“Clint told you that?” Steve asked, wearing an expression that had Bucky thinking up a cover real quick.

“Of course not.” He scoffed. “You think I can’t tell when I’m being followed? When someone I’m with is being followed? Clint may be good, but we both know I’ve always been better.”

“Clint — the guy with the hair — he’s been following me? Is _still_ following me?” Sam asked, voice barely above a whisper. “No. Okay, yeah, I need you both to go,” he said, and started backing up a little. 

“Sam—

“Now, Steve. Take your stuff, don’t take your stuff. I don't even care anymore. I just want you gone.” His gaze slid to Bucky. “Both of you.”

“Sam, come on. Don’t walk away from me,” Steve pleaded harshly, grabbing Sam’s arm to pull him back. “Let’s—

But before Steve could finish his sentence — before Sam could even react to Steve’s unwanted touch, Bucky was closing the small distance between them and in one quick movement took hold of Steve’s hand, removing it from Sam’s arm, and punched Steve in the face. Steve wasn’t expecting it and he lost his balance and landed on the floor.

 _Shit,_ Bucky thought, and really had to resist the urge to say it out loud. He had not meant to do that, but seeing someone grab Sam like that had automatically sent him into action, even if it was Steve. (Maybe especially since it was Steve.)

But, either way, he could’ve kicked himself. He knew he’d just made things way worse. 

“Look, I’m sorry, Stevie,” he said, honestly, hoping a sincere apology might be good for at least a little damage control.

“You’re sorry,” Steve said in disbelief as he scrambled to his feet, not even bothering to pick up the ring box he’d dropped when he hit the floor. 

“For what exactly?” He took a step closer to Bucky. “Being a disloyal prick?” He asked, then pushed Bucky in the chest. “Coming out here and getting my man all upset for no reason?” He gave him another push. “Or, for—

“I’m not your man,” Sam cut in, finally finding his voice. Bucky punching Steve had thrown him for a minute. Outside of the military, Sam hadn’t been this close to a physical fight since high school. But, he supposed that punch was just another unbelievable thing to add to this already unbelievable day.

“I’m not your anything,” Sam added, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t know what else to say to get it through your thick head, but we’re finished. So, please just go,” he said, and this time he sounded plain tired.

“No,” Steve replied, petulantly.

His face was the picture of stubbornness, and Bucky was pretty sure he was five seconds away from stomping his feet. 

“Stevie, man, let’s go,” Bucky said. He knew Steve was way too pissed at him to listen to anything he had to say, but he had to at least try for Sam’s sake. The man looked beyond done at this point.

“You think I’d go anywhere with you?” Steve said, incredulously, swinging his attention back to Bucky. “No, see, I’m gonna stay here and work things out with my _fiancé_. So, why don’t _you_ leave, before I make you leave.”

Now _that_ sounded an awful lot like a threat. But, still, Bucky tried to keep at least some of his cool. He did not think that starting a fistfight in Sam’s home was going to win him any points. 

“Steve, Sam doesn’t want us here,” he tried again. _He doesn’t want us period._ “It’s over, okay?”

Bucky had said it as gently as he could — he’d certainly said it more gently than Steve derserved. But it was clearly the wrong thing to say, because he saw Steve’s eyes flash and the next thing he knew Steve was on him. One fist clutching his shirt, Steve’s other fist aiming straight for his face.

It sent Bucky’s head flying back, and Steve took the opportunity to land a couple of more solid punches to Bucky’s ribs. 

But that was all the opportunity he got. Bucky planted his feet and headbutted Steve as hard as he could. And when Steve reared back, dazed and blinking, Bucky swept his legs and tackled him to the floor. They hit the coffee table, and the resulting _thunk_ certainly sounded like something had broken, but that didn’t stop Bucky. Sam’s shouting in the background for them to “stop” didn’t stop Bucky.

Now that he had an outlet for all of the tension and frustration he’d been feeling since the second he had received that fateful phone call from Clint, _nothing_ was going to stop Bucky. 

He sat there on top of Steve, his oldest friend — his best friend _—_ at times his _only_ friend, and planted his fists into him over and over again. Steve was able to deflect some of the blows and even managed to get a few licks in himself, but Bucky was like a man possessed and Steve just couldn’t compete. 

Steve was paying for hurting Sam, for grabbing Sam. Hell, as unfair as it was, Steve was paying for meeting Sam first.

“Get off me,” Steve grunted out.

“What was it you told Sam earlier when he asked you to leave?” Bucky responded, breathing heavily, as he stared down at Steve while deftly deflecting his hits. 

“No,” he answered himself, not expecting a reply from Steve, and then reared back his fist to land another punch.

But that time Sam grabbed his arm before he could follow through.

Sam was surprised at himself. He was usually far quicker to react than this. It was what had made him a good PJ back in the day, and a good nurse presently. But this fight had been so surreal, he’d stood there basically hypnotized by the sight for far longer than he cared to admit. It wasn’t until he saw Bucky cock his fist back again for what had looked like was going to be one final crushing blow that he’d snapped out of it, and moved to get him off Steve.

“Stop,” Sam said, as he used every ounce of strength he had to drag Bucky off of Steve. “Jesus, Bucky, that’s enough.”

It was more than enough. Bucky looked bad, but Steve looked like hell: a split lip, one eye already swelling shut, a nose that Sam wouldn’t be surprised to find out was broken, and Lord only knew what else.

Sam knew Bucky used to like to fight and had even made money roughing people up, but seeing this type of violence first hand, in his own home no less, from someone who had only ever been gentle with him, was truly fucking Sam up. Especially since he knew that, essentially, they were fighting over him. 

Bucky’s first reaction was to resist and lunge himself back at Steve, but one glimpse at Sam’s face had him holding still. Sam looked stunned and a little disgusted. And as Bucky’s gaze went from Steve’s banged up body, to the now trashed living room, Bucky didn’t blame Sam one bit. 

“Sammy, sweetheart,” he started, not even bothering to censor himself now that everything was out of the bag. “I’m sorry.” He paused. “For everything.”

Sam sighed heavily. “Just go, James. Please.”

God, Bucky wanted to refuse. He didn’t want to leave things like this between him and Sam, or even between him and Steve now that he had a second to breathe and realize just what exactly he’d done. But in that moment, with Sam looking so drained and upset, Bucky didn’t have the power to refuse him anything.

“I’m sorry, doll,” he whispered again, not knowing what else he could possibly say, then grabbed his keys and headed towards the door.

And then there were two. 

Sam took a good look at Steve. He had managed to pull himself up into a sitting position, leaning with his back against the couch, and was breathing heavily. 

Sam was about to tell him to get his ass up and leave too, when Steve rubbed the back of his head and then brought his hand forward only to find blood on it. 

_Jesus Christ. Did that happen when him and Bucky took out my coffee table?_

“Give me a second, baby,” Steve panted out, when he noticed Sam staring at him. “I don’t feel too hot.”

Sam couldn’t tell if he was doing it on purpose or what, but between the labored breathing and the pitch of his voice just then, Steve sounded pathetic as hell. _God, I ought to just drag his ass out of here,_ he thought meanly. But he knew he wasn’t going to, knew the nurse in him wouldn’t allow it. 

“Stop talking,” he ordered briskly. 

Steve’s eyes narrowed slightly in confusion, which only made Sam’s eyes roll in response.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Sam said, and then disappeared out of view.

He was back moments later, sitting next to Steve with his first aid kit and a damp rag.

Gently, he grasped Steve’s head and brushed his hair aside to examine the wound. It wasn’t big or deep. Not the kind of thing that required stitches or even a couple of staples.

“Listen,” he said, voice as short and businesslike as he could make it. “I’m gonna fix you up, cause I think I’d have a hard time looking myself in the mirror tonight if I let someone with a head injury leave my apartment without doing anything about it.” He paused, and some of the venom was back in his voice when he added: “Even if that person is you. But I swear to God, Steve, when I’m done with this, I’m done period. I want you out of my home and out of my life, okay?”

Steve could see it plain as day in Sam’s eyes that he was serious. And for the first time that afternoon he was unsure whether their relationship could even be repaired.

“Baby, please—

“Steve,” he interrupted, quietly, his voice strained with emotion. “If you love me, if you ever loved me. If you ever had even a shred of respect for me and my feelings, you’ll just say okay. Please.”

They weren’t touching but Steve could practically feel how tense Sam was. His body was drawn tight and he looked like he was holding himself together through sheer will. 

Steve wanted to reach for him. He wanted to tell him: _Of course I respect you. Of course I love you. That’s why I want to fix this._ But even he knew that there was only one thing to say right now that wouldn’t make everything worse.

“Okay, Sam,” he whispered, and felt Sam relax slightly next to him.

 _Thank you God,_ Sam thought, and then forced himself to lean over and start cleaning Steve’s wound. The sooner he got Steve taken care of, the sooner he could be rid of him forever.

Or, so he thought. 

But while Steve sat passively and let Sam work on him, he was thinking. Or, rather, he was plotting. As far as he was concerned, this thing between them wasn’t over by a long shot. He’d fix things with Sam… and he’d deal with Bucky. 

He just needed to come up with a plan first.

******

“What are you doing here?” Bucky said, by way of greeting when Natasha waltzed into his office at the body shop the next morning without so much as a knock.

“Well, I just saw Steve at the bar and he looked like he’d been through the wringer,” she said, as she sat down in the chair in front of his desk. “So I figured I ought to come see what the other guy looked like.”

“I can’t believe he told you what happened,” Bucky said, surprised. He kind of figured Steve would be too busy licking his wounds and plotting his revenge to be gossiping. 

She snorted. “He didn’t. Clint had already told me about the ring. More importantly, he’d already told me that he had told _you_ about the ring. So, once I saw Steve it didn’t exactly take much to put two and two together and figure out who must’ve given him that shiner, even if he wouldn’t tell me.”

“It could’ve been Sam,” he responded, flatly.

“Yeah, right. If Wilson was gonna punch him he’d have done it at that party.”

“So,” she said, after pausing briefly to pull a baggie of grapes out of her jacket pocket and pop one in her mouth. “I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you told Sam everything huh, then got into it with Steve — is that pretty much what happened?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

“And did you get everything you wanted? You and Sam gonna ride off into the sunset now?”

Her tone was incredibly mocking, but Bucky couldn’t even find it in him to be annoyed by it. At least someone was able to find the humor in the situation, cause he sure as hell couldn’t. Steve was pissed at him. Sam didn’t want to be anywhere near him. Two relationships down the drain, and for what?

“God,” he groaned, rubbing his hand over his face in frustration. “I fucked up, Tasha.”

“Well, duh,” she said, voice free from sympathy. “Steve is an asshole, but he’s still your best friend. You should’ve told him how you felt about Sam weeks ago. Oh, he would’ve still been pissed, but after everything you two have been through, he deserved your honesty.”

“And,” she went on, still munching on her grapes. “If you were gonna snitch, you should’ve snitched a while ago. Waiting ‘til Steve was gonna propose looks self-serving as hell,” she said, shrugging at the look he sent her. “What? It does. Please, don’t even try to tell me that you would’ve still told Sam everything yesterday if Clint hadn’t told you about that ring?”

“I would’ve told him eventually,” he said, defensively. Then sighed and admitted, “but probably not yesterday.” He shook his head. “Gee you sure know how to make a guy feel better.”

Okay, that time he just sounded defeated and Natasha couldn’t help but start to feel a little guilty. 

“Don’t feel too bad,” she said, shrugging. “We all fucked up on this one.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows curiously, causing her to roll her eyes.

“Steve could have not been a creep in the first place. Sam could have told Steve, or you for that matter, to kick rocks once he realized he had a crush on you, instead of basically deciding to date you both—

“Wait,” he interrupted, sounding perkier than he had all day. “You think Sam has — had a crush on me?”

“Don’t you?”

 _Well yeah, but it’s nice to hear somebody else say it so I know it wasn’t just wishful thinking on my part,_ he thought to himself, but outwardly all he did was shrug in response.

“Anyway,” she continued after a minute, as if he’d never interrupted her in the first place. “Clint and I could’ve sold you out instead of covering for you. Thanks for not throwing us under the bus, by the way,” she added, and he gave her a small nod. “So, believe me, there’s enough blame to go around.”

“The question now though is: how are you planning on fixing this?”

He gave a harsh little laugh, as his lips curled up into a poor imitation of a smile. “I don’t really think fixing this is an option.”

“It is, you know,” she said, voice soft and thoughtful. “At least with Steve.”

“How do you figure?” He asked, skeptically.

“You never slept with him, right?”

“Tasha, I never so much as kissed Sam.” _Never got a chance to,_ he thought, with more than a hint of sadness.

“Well, there you go. Look,” she said, leaning forward in her seat. “Steve is possessive, sure. Hell, we’re all weirdly possessive. I personally think it’s a holdover from us not having shit when we were younger, but who knows,” she added matter of factly. 

“But Steve’s also practical. And while a Connecticut housewife may be inconsolable about the weird little eighteenth century, long looks and fleeting touches, emotional affair you and Sam had, I think Steve is far more concerned about whether the two of you ever rubbed dicks.”

“Christ, Tasha,” he said, grimacing.

“What?” She replied, but he could see her lips twitching. “You know I’m right, the fact that y’all never fooled around is gonna count for a lot.”

“Maybe,” he said, doubtfully. “But I still told all his business. I mean, maybe not all of it, but enough of it.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, “you definitely blew up his spot. But, if you go to him with your hat in your hand and beg, I mean, like literally beg, he won’t forgive you, but he’ll start to think about it. He’s going to tax the fuck out of you. Maybe mentally, maybe physically, maybe he’ll literally tax your cut of the business, but he’s going to demand payment in one form or another.”

“Then in six months or a year, he’ll say he forgives you, but he won’t. He’ll pay you back in kind, the first chance he gets. The first time you so much as look at another guy or girl, Steve will go out of his way to ruin it.” She paused. “Maybe by sleeping with them. Then, you guys will be fine again.”

Bucky sighed. “That’s a nice story and all, but—

“Think about it, James,” she cut in. “You know I’m right. Beg, apologize, be your old loyal self, and stay the hell away from Sam, and you’ll get back on Steve’s good side.” She paused. “Eventually.”

“Steve loves _maybe_ a handful of people in the world, and you’re the only person I’m actually positive is on that list. He will forgive you,” she insisted. “And everything can go back to how it was… if you want it to.”

“But…” he said, expectantly, knowing she wasn’t done. 

“But if you still want Sam… if you’re still going to try to win him over or back or whatever, then you’re going to have to make some hard choices about your friends and your business because Steve will never accept you two being together, and neither will some of the crew.”

“I know that,” he snapped. “You think I don’t know that? You think I didn’t spend the whole ride over to Sam’s yesterday feeling like the biggest traitor in the world. I love Steve, he’s like my brother. But—

“But you love Sam too,” Natasha supplied. “Bucky, you may not want to admit it even to yourself, but of course you do.” She laughed dryly. “We’re not the good guys, sweetie. You never would’ve told him the truth if you weren’t in love with him. The question is: are you still going to try to be with him?”

She was right. God, Bucky knew she was right, and it made him a little sick. The kind of guy who only did the right thing when it involved someone he loved, wasn’t the kind of guy who deserved the love of someone as good as Sam Wilson. Too bad that knowing that didn’t change how he felt one bit.

******

When Claire showed up at Sam’s door the next afternoon holding two enormous iced coffees, while he was finishing up changing the lock, Sam wasn’t even surprised. He had known as soon as he called into work that morning that he’d be hearing from her one way or another.

“So,” she said, as she walked past him and into his apartment. “This new lock got anything to do with that talk we had the other day about you breaking up with Steve?”

“What — not even gonna say ‘hi’ and sit your ridiculously big purse down before you start throwing questions at me?” 

She cocked an eyebrow at him, but did go to sit her stuff down in the living room. 

That’s when she saw the new coffee table.

“Uhhh… Sam, honey, why do you have a new coffee table with a bow sitting on it?” She called out, as she headed back towards him.

 _Christ._ And now Sam was kicking himself for even letting her in. 

That coffee table was sitting in his living room this morning when he finally managed to pull himself out of bed. He had planned to force himself to go into work, simply so he’d have a distraction from all the thoughts running through his mind. But then he’d seen it — bright red bow on top, all traces of his recently broken table gone, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he’d freaked the fuck out.

Sam had been so busy thinking about everything else, that he hadn’t even thought to ask Steve for his key back. So, the second he saw that table, he knew either Bucky had broken in (which, frankly, now that Sam knew more about the man, he wouldn’t put a B & E past him), or Steve had walked right in using his key. Both scenarios were creepy as hell. And even though he knew a new lock wasn’t going to necessarily keep anybody out who didn’t want to be kept out, he knew it would make him feel better. So, Sam had used one of his PTO days and went straight to the hardware store as soon as he got dressed.

“Sammy, seriously,” Claire said, hands upon her hips as she watched him get to his feet. “What’s going on?”

He sighed. “I’ll tell you, but can we at least go sit on the couch while you interrogate me?” He asked, then slipped past her and headed back towards the living room, grabbing the drink she’d brought him as he went.

 _He better be happy it’s me and not Sarah or his mama,_ she thought, as she rolled his eyes at his sassy tone, but all she said out loud was: “Fine, boy.”

****

For maybe a full minute after he’d finished talking, Claire just stared at him blankly. He couldn’t blame her, he hadn’t even processed everything (or anything) that happened the day before, so it was understandable that she’d need a little time to recover. Even if what he’d just told her was a very much condensed version of events.

“Oh my God,” Claire exclaimed. “ _Oh my God._ Okay, yeah, changing the locks is a good start, but Sammy we’ve got to do something — get you a gun, or a security system, hell at least file for a restraining order or something.”

“A restraining order?” He scoffed. “And what would I use as the incident that necessitated the order huh?” He asked sarcastically. “Hmm the guy I was dating and the guy I thought I was into got into a fight over me, officer,” he said, in a mocking voice. “Oh no, I wasn’t touched. In fact they went out of their way to not touch me.”

He shook his head. “That’s not cause for a restraining order, that’s an episode of Saved by the Bell. They’d probably laugh me out the room.”

“Okay, smartass,” she said, sending him a look to let him know she wasn’t at all impressed with his tone. “How about the fact that the guy you were into was stalking you?”

“Tell me how this sounds,” he said, but this time his voice was back to normal. “I met a guy, unbeknownst to me he lied about his past then I ran into a few more times and we dated for a year.” He sighed. “I just don’t see how I could even begin to prove that a restraining order is justified. I mean, you know the system as well as I do. You know it’s not like on TV where they hand them out to everybody who’s ever had somebody look at them crosseyed. There’s usually a hearing and I just don’t think I can prove that Steve did anything that warrants a restraining order.”

Claire knew he was right. They saw it enough with abuse victims who came into the hospital. And if some of the patients she’d treated weren’t able to get restraining orders with the evidence literally on their faces and bodies, then, no, she didn’t see how Sam was going to be able to get one under these circumstances.

“Okay, but what about a gun?” She asked. 

“Nope.”

“Sammy, Steve pretended to have a dead wife just so you’d talk to him. Who knows what he’s capable of. You need to protect yourself,” she stressed.

“Steve’s not gonna hurt me. At least not physically anyway,” he insisted, even though he’d be the first to admit that he obviously wasn’t great at knowing just what Steve was capable of. Hell, just yesterday morning he would’ve said that Steve wasn’t capable of lying about being a widower, so…

“But— 

“Besides,” he continued, cutting her off. “You know how I feel about random civilians having guns in their homes.” 

He had almost just as many opinions about gun control as he did about drugs, and he wasn’t shy about them either.

“Having a gun is a good way to make sure I get my ass shot, Claire. You know as well as I do that you’re actually more likely to get shot if you’re in possession of a gun than if you’re not.”

“You’re right,” she said, grudgingly. “But you’re not exactly some immature idiot, Sam. You could take all the necessary safety precautions.”

Sam laughed a little at that. “Baby girl, do you really think either Sarah or myself would be comfortable having Jody over here if I owned a gun? I don’t give a damn how well it was locked up. We’d both be nervous wrecks. Nah.” He shook his head. “I don’t want one in my house. And, frankly, I’ve seen enough guns to last a lifetime.”

“Sorry,” she said, wincing a little. His time in the military hadn’t even occurred to her when she suggested it. 

“So, not a gun then,” she said, after a moment. “But Sam, one of these dudes was in your apartment while you were sleeping.”

“Believe me, Claire, I get that. I’m taking this seriously,” he promised. “That’s why I changed my locks. That’s why, one of the first things I did this morning was call my therapist and make an appointment.”

“Really?” She asked, and breathed a sigh of relief. She had wanted to suggest that he visit his doctor, but she didn’t want to seem pushy about it. 

“Yes, really,” he said, then gave a quiet self-deprecating laugh. “I may be moving on pure _my boyfriend is a nut_ adrenaline right now, but I’m well aware that it’s going to disappear at some point. I’ve crashed and burned due to relationship problems before and I’m not exactly itching to do it again.”

“Well, the last time your ‘relationship problems’ were that your husband passed away, and this time you found out your boyfriend was pretty much your stalker and your _other_ boyfriend knew about it and didn’t tell you, so I think you get a pass on any changes in your mood,” she said, wryly.

“Bucky was never even close to being my boyfriend,” Sam said, choosing to respond to the least headache inducing part of the little speech she’d just given.

Claire knew she should probably leave well enough alone, but she just couldn’t. Sure, an upcoming therapy session was great and all, but she figured Sam probably had an immediate need to talk. 

“Yeah he was, Sammy,” she said, softly. “Admit it: if none of this had happened, if you and Steve got to have a regular ass breakup, you’d probably be somewhere boo’d up with Bucky right now.”

“Yeah, well…” he trailed off. “Not like it matters much now. All of this _did_ happen. And, mysterious coffee tables notwithstanding, I doubt I’ll see either of them again. And I certainly don’t want to.”

Claire raised her eyebrows, but chose to remain silent that time. Maybe this was a conversation for his doctor after all, because Sam definitely seemed to be in denial at worst, or engaging in some serious wishful thinking at best. Claire may not have known Steve or Bucky very well, but she thought it was a safe bet that neither of them were quite through with Sam yet. Even if he wanted to pretend they were. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated!
> 
> Chapter title: Ideal


	15. On Bended Knee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Becca shares her opinion. 
> 
> Bucky shares a lot more than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait guys! 
> 
> BTW, the summary and tags have been updated. Please heed them 🙂

“Becca?” Bucky called out, as soon as he stepped into his condo. He had seen her car outside. And even though if someone had asked him five minutes ago if he wanted company, he would’ve said no, knowing his sister was around instantly perked him up. 

“I’m in the living room,” she half-yelled back. “And I brought that barbecue you like, so come on in here.”

 _Thank God,_ he thought, as he put the groceries away and grabbed a beer out the fridge. The last thing he felt like doing was cooking. 

“So,” he said, walking into the living room and flopping down on the opposite end of the couch. “What are you doing here?”

She snorted. “I’m here like all the time. At least that’s what you say whenever you start threatening to take your key back.”

“Yeah,” he drawled. “Okay. But since when do you bring me dinner? You usually just curl up in one of my throws and alternate between watching TV and pouting at me until I get up and fix you something to eat. So,” he continued, grabbing the takeout box she had nudged in his direction. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Well,” she began, sitting up a little straighter and opening her own box. “Natasha may have called me earlier and suggested I come by and check on you whenever I got a chance.”

Bucky blinked, fairly surprised. He had assumed that Becca was over to ask for some sort of favor. _This_ was unexpected… but welcome. 

“She tell you what happened?” He asked, through a mouthful of rib tips. 

“Ehh I doubt she told me all of it,” Becca guessed. “But she told me enough.”

“Hmm,” he grunted, before returning to his food and biting into the meat like he was mad at it.

And Becca let him for a while. Let him fill his stomach and down most of his beer. Let him stare at whichever Real Housewives show the TV was currently on, even though she knew he wasn’t really paying attention to it. 

She let him zone out and get slightly comfortable, and then she struck.

“So, how bad was it, Bucky Bear?”

He sighed. It had been too much to hope that his well meaning but nosy sister wouldn’t want to discuss everything, even if he really didn’t feel like talking about it.

“It was pretty damn bad, Bec. I haven’t talked to Sam or Steve since everything went down.”

“Really?” She asked, forehead creased. “Steve hasn’t…” she trailed off and gave him a significant look.

“Nothing,” he confirmed, with a shake of his head. “He hasn’t dropped by the shop, he hasn’t called, he hasn’t… sent me any messages. It’s weird.”

Weird was an understatement. Frankly, Bucky had been expecting Steve to pop up at the most random moment and start some shit, and the fact that he hadn’t yet, even though a couple of days had passed, was making Bucky nervous. He wasn’t scared of Steve; Bucky knew he could beat him one on one. He knew Steve wasn’t gonna try to kill him or anything. But that was _all_ he knew. And sitting around waiting on the other shoe to drop was nerve-racking as hell.

“So go see him,” she suggested. “He’s probably holed up in his house or his office at the bar licking his wounds and figuring out his next idiotic play. Go surprise him. Make him talk to you.”

He had considered that, but quickly threw out the idea. If Steve appeared on his doorstep wanting to fight or talk, he wouldn’t run away. But he wasn’t ready to seek the other man out. Not yet, not until he knew what he wanted to do himself.

“The shits already hit the fan,” Becca went on. “You told his secrets. Time to settle this thing once and for all.” She shrugged. “He can be mad at you and Sam all he wants, but the two of you still have a business to run. He can’t hide from you, and you shouldn’t hide from him.”

“There is no me and Sam,” he replied, honing in on that one thing. “He’s pissed at me.” 

Bucky rubbed his hands over his face in frustration, before adding, “And I don’t blame him one bit.”

“Wait — Sam’s upset with you?” She asked, indignant on her brother’s behalf. “He ought to be grateful. It’s thanks to you that he knows what a creep Steve is and isn’t with him anymore.”

He shook his head. “I waited too long to tell him, Bec. I should’ve told Sam what was going on from jump. That’s what a good guy would do — a _decent_ guy. But I waited until the last minute, until I was basically backed into a corner, to tell him what was going on.” He turned towards his sister. “He was devastated. You should’ve seen his face. Knowing that I knew what Steve was up to and hadn’t told him really hurt Sam.”

“Okay, but Steve was the one who was actually up to something, so that’s who he needs to be angry with,” she replied, forever her brother’s staunchest defender. “Even if you did wait a while to tell him, at least you told him before he really made any life changing decisions with Steve.” 

“That’s the best part,” Bucky said, laughing, but there wasn’t a hint of humor in it. “Sam was already planning to break up with Steve. When I got there, he had Steve’s shit all boxed up and everything.”

“Then why didn’t you keep your damn mouth shut?” She wanted to know. “I mean, sure, if you turned around and started dating Sam in a couple of weeks Steve would still be upset and stuff, but I bet he’d be a lot less upset than he is now. And Sam wouldn’t be upset with you at all.”

“I thought about that,” he admitted. “But Sam deserved to know the truth. He deserved to know everything.”

Now it was Becca’s turn to shake her head. Yeah, it was likely that if Bucky hadn’t told Sam the truth the other day, it would’ve all come out eventually, but there was a chance it might not have. And, even if it did, he still could have bought himself weeks or even months with Sam. But, no, because Sam _deserved_ the truth, her brother had basically shot himself in the foot.

“Oh my God,” she said, as it finally clicked into place. “You’re in love with him.”

“Becca,” he tried to interrupt, but she wasn’t having it.

“I knew you had a crush on him and wanted to get your hands on his dick—

“Becca!”

“But I didn’t know you were in love,” she said, excitedly. “Did you even tell him?”

“There wasn’t really a chance for that,” he said, somewhat defensively and very sarcastically. “What with the whole ‘hey you’re dating your stalker’ and the fistfight that followed.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Okay, so tell him now.”

“Did you miss the part where he’s pissed at me? I lied to him, got him all upset, and then pretty much destroyed his living room. Becca, he had to drag me off, Steve,” he said, with a wince as he remembered the way Sam had looked at him.

“I may not have been there, but I just know that fight was Steve’s fault. And, please, anything you destroyed can be replaced or fixed. Lord knows you have the money for it.”

“You don’t get it,” Bucky said, and much to his embarrassment he felt himself starting to choke up. “I destroyed us. I destroyed our friendship by keeping Steve’s secrets. And all the money in the world can’t fix that.”

“Have you even tried to fix it though?”

“I’ve tried calling,” he replied. “And I’m pretty sure he’s gone from ignoring my calls to blocking my number. And I won’t show up on his door out of the blue when he clearly doesn’t want to see me. I’m not gonna force my presence on him.”

“Nah, I’m gonna do what he wants. For once, I’m gonna do the right thing: leave him alone. He deserves better than me anyway,” he added, sadly.

“Bucky—

“I’m serious, Bec,” he cut her off. “Sam’s the best — the _sweetest_ guy I’ve ever known, and he deserves a good guy in return. And like Natasha said, we definitely are not the good guys.”

The glare on Becca’s face at that was instant and murderous.

“Okay. Well, first of all, fuck Natasha.”

Bucky frowned at his sister, but she simply shrugged and kept talking before he could interject.

“Like, I like her. She’s cool and all, but seriously, fuck her. You are a good guy. You’re the best guy, Bucky Bear — the best man I know,” she said, fiercely. 

“You think bad guys make sure their moms can retire early?” She scoffed. “Ma hasn’t had to work in years and is currently sitting on her butt in a nice ass house in the sticks even though she’s probably never deposited a dime in a 401K or even a savings account, and that’s all because of you. You take care of her. You take care of _us.”_

“Look at me,” Becca went on, voice almost shaking with intensity. “I’m sitting here with a degree and zero debt hanging over my head cause you made sure I would never have to worry about money. I’m able to work a job I love even though the pay is shit, because you finance my life.”

“Anybody would do that for family,” Bucky interrupted, shaking his head. “It’s nothing special.”

“Are you for real?” She asked in disbelief. “No they wouldn’t. There are people who are born rich who wouldn’t help their families the way you’ve helped us; and all your money comes from your blood, sweat, and tears, not a trust fund.”

“You’ve done some bad things,” she admitted, voice calming a bit. “But you are _not_ a bad guy. You deserve the world, Bucky Bear. You deserve anything you want. And if you want Sam Wilson then you better damn well go get him.”

“It’s not that simple, Becca,” he said, sighing. “I can’t just ‘go get him.’ Even if he wasn’t pissed at me, which he most definitely is, and rightfully so, we still wouldn’t work.”

“How do you figure?” She asked, cocking an eyebrow at him. “From everything you’ve told me, you two have more chemistry than a tenth grade science teacher.”

That got a smile out of Bucky.

“God you’re corny.”

“Maybe,” she said, grinning back at him. “But I am right though… right?”

“Chemistry isn’t the problem,” he replied. “It’s the only thing that’s _not_ a problem. Hell, I don’t even know what I was thinking,” he added, shaking his head. “I mean, if the whole reason Steve never told him what he did for a living is cause he knew Sam would hate it — wouldn’t want to deal with it — then, honestly, how can I expect him to feel any differently about me? Everything Steve’s done, I’ve done. And in some cases, I’ve done worse.”

He looked up at his sister. “Now tell me: why would a guy like Sam, a guy who spent his first career saving people in a literal war, his next job helping veterans, and his current career saving any and everybody, want to be saddled with a thug like me?” 

“So don’t do that stuff anymore,” Becca suggested, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. “I mean, how much more money do you even need at this point? You can take what you have now and do anything with it. You don’t have to sell drugs, Bucky. You don’t have to do any of that mess y’all are involved in.”

“What else would I even do?” 

“Literally anything you want,” she shot back. “Or nothing at all. Hell, you can be a man of leisure if you want. That’s the question though, Bucky Bear: what do you want?”

This wasn’t the first time Becca had him asking himself that very question: what did he want? And, at the root, his answer remained the same. He wanted Sam. Period. If that meant he had to change some things, then so be it. 

“I want Sam,” he said, passionately, then almost immediately deflated. “But even if I could convince him to have me, Natasha was right: I’d lose Steve for good.”

“Oh who cares?” She replied, dismissively. “With Sam you’ll get a lifetime of BJs and a new family. And with Steve you’d get — what? A lifetime of risking your safety — _your freedom_ — for someone who doesn’t even appreciate you anymore like he should.”

“Steve appreciates me,” he responded, more out of reflex than because he actually believed it to be true.

“Please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You guys may be partners, and you may split everything, but, and it’s a very big but, he doesn’t give you near as much credit or respect as he should. It’s obvious he thinks he’s the leader, and that it’s either his way or the highway.”

He snorted. “You make us sound like a gang or something. We’re just… a group of friends with similar interests.”

“So, a gang then?” Becca shot back, sarcastically. “And a gang that wouldn’t have shit if it wasn’t for you. It was you who went and took those corners by force, Bucky. Natasha and Clint helped, but it was your leadership that even got your feet in the door.”

“My leadership or Stark’s money?” 

“Please, if all it took was money, Stark would’ve done it by himself. You took those corners. You owned the neighborhood. Sure, you guys don’t even have to do all that now, but you did back then and you made it happen. Your name. The respect people had for you.”

She looked so serious that Bucky couldn’t help but laugh. 

“God, I knew I should’ve never let you borrow my seasons of _The Wire.”_

“Shut up,” she said, and tried to kick him, but he could tell she was making an effort not to smile. 

“I’m just saying, Steve takes you for granted. Steve’s already mad at you. And Steve’s bossy ass probably wants to run things on his own. So why not let him?” She shrugged. “Quit worrying about him, and start a new Steve-less chapter in your life.”

“Besides,” she continued, “instead of thinking about how you could keep Steve as a friend if you and Sam were together, you need to think about how you could possibly keep Sam if you and Steve remained friends. I know this guy’s supposed to be a saint and all, but nobody on the planet is going to want their boyfriend to be in business with their stalker.”

 _Christ_ , he thought, eyes widening slightly. He felt like an idiot, because somehow his brain had skipped right over that angle, but his sister was absolutely right. Even if Sam wanted a relationship with him, and by some miracle Steve was okay with it and wanted a friendship with him, Bucky couldn’t expect Sam to ever forgive Steve enough to allow the man back into his life… in any capacity. 

Nope. Natasha was right. Becca was right. He really was just going to have to choose which one of them to even attempt to reconcile with. 

“Bucky,” Becca said softly, as she watched the emotions play across his unusually expressive face. “I know that despite everything you love Steve like a brother, but can you really imagine never seeing Sam again for the rest of your life? Never hearing his voice. Never feeling his touch again. Is that something you could honestly find a way to live with? Especially knowing that you never even tried to make things right with him.”

 _Never see Sam again._ The thought of it alone had Bucky’s stomach clenching in distress. It had only been a couple of days and he already missed Sam terribly. And, sure, there was a chance that he’d eventually get over Sam and what they had, but Bucky seriously doubted it. Somehow he knew that his not-even-a-breakup with Sam would remain a dull ache in his heart for the rest of his life. 

“No,” he finally answered, quietly.

“No?”

“I can’t imagine it, Bec. I… I have to get him back.” He blew out a breath. “I have to at least try.”

 _Yay,_ Becca cheered to herself. Her brother was going to get the happiness he deserved, even if she had to force him at gun point to go after it. 

******

Sam couldn’t help but wonder just what delusions he had been suffering from when he told Claire that he’d likely heard the last from Steve. Because in the past three days he’d received gifts ranging from flowers to chocolates to cuff links and even an envelope full of cash. The presents had gone in the dumpster along with the coffee table and the cash was going to the nearest homeless shelter. He didn’t want this type of stuff when they were together and he sure as hell wasn’t going to accept it now. 

The gifts were bad enough, but Steve _and_ Bucky had both called his phone an obscene number of times (though Steve’s attempts beat Bucky’s by a mile) before it had finally occurred to him that he could block their numbers. 

And, yeah, making the calls stop had sure alleviated some of his stress. But the random ass deliveries were incredibly annoying to him, and downright worrisome to Claire. She’d just happened to be visiting again the day after their uncomfortable coffee confessions, when he received a singing telegram set to the tune of _Baby Come Back_ and even though she’d laughed until she just about cried, she had also gone home, packed a bag, and announced she was having an extended sleepover. She figured that eventually Steve was going to try to deliver one of these presents himself, and she wanted to be there when he did. 

Sam knew her intentions were good. Claire and he had always had a pretty boundary-less relationship, even after their romantic relationship had ended. So it wasn’t like he was surprised that she had appointed herself his bodyguard or something for the past few days. But, still, he kind of wanted his couch back. He wanted to return to normal and get back into a rhythm, or at least try to. These days Claire insisted he take off from work had been nice, but he had no intentions of hiding in his apartment forever even if she thought they should.

And he was right in the middle of telling Claire that he was definitely done using his precious PTO days on his breakup drama when he heard a knock at his door. 

Two sets of eyes immediately flew towards the door. They hadn’t ordered food, they hadn’t ordered anything. He wasn’t expecting any company either. 

Sam closed his eyes and sighed. It had to be another one of Steve’s unwelcome offerings.

Except, the knocking continued and it was becoming frantic… and loud. If Sam didn’t know any better, he’d have thought the police were banging on his door. 

“Now what delivery man you know knocks like that?” Claire said, getting off the couch and heading towards the door before Sam could make a move.

 _Don’t be Steve. Don’t be Steve,_ Sam silently chanted to himself. He wasn’t exactly scared of the guy, even though he probably should’ve been. It was more like he was scared of what might happen if he actually saw his ex again. Because after his recent emergency therapy session he’d come to two conclusion rather quickly (even if he’d rather choke than ever admit either one to anybody else): 

If he saw Steve again, he might do something stupid like slug him.

And if he saw Bucky again, he might do something _really_ stupid like fall in love with him.

Oh, one appointment with his doctor hadn’t cleared up everything, but between talking to his therapist and spending a few days thinking about nothing but this situation, he at least knew that much. 

He was more angry at Steve than he’d ever been at anyone before and wanted nothing more than to move on from their relationship. 

But as for Bucky… his feelings were a lot more complicated and mixed up. Knowing that Bucky had lied to him and had basically been Steve’s co-conspirator was devastating. He felt betrayed. Although, he hadn’t wanted to admit it even to himself, Sam knew that the way he felt about Bucky was something he hadn’t felt in a very long time… since Riley. His friendship with Bucky had been so easy and effortless while also managing to hold more sexual tension than he knew what to do with. And all that didn’t go away just because he was mad at the guy now. 

“Let’s just ignore it,” Sam called out, belatedly, figuring that was probably the easiest way to avoid whatever this was about to turn into. 

“Nope,” she called back, right before he heard the door click open. 

“You,” Claire said, her lip curling in distaste.

Bucky couldn’t be positive, but he had the feeling he was far more surprised to see Claire than she was to see him. 

It had taken a few days after talking to his sister for Bucky to work up the nerve to come see Sam. And the last thing he had expected was to be met by Sam’s gorgeous best friend, wearing one of Sam’s old Air Force t-shirts and a pair of what Bucky could only assume were Sam’s basketball shorts. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun and she looked casually beautiful… and very comfortable. Like she’d definitely spent the night. 

“He doesn’t want to see you,” she practically hissed, effectively breaking him out of his quickly spiraling thoughts. 

“Claire—

“You need to go,” she interrupted him, and started to close the door, but Bucky grabbed it and held it in place.

“I need to talk to Sam,” he said. “Please.”

“You _need_ to stay away from Sam,” she replied, and tried to push against the door again, but he wasn’t budging.

“I’m not leaving, Claire,” he said, starting to lose his patience even though he knew he didn’t really have a right to. “Not until I see Sam.”

“Okay,” Sam said, from where he’d just walked up behind Claire. Once he’d heard Bucky’s voice it had taken a minute for him to pull it together enough to come to the door.

Once look at Bucky, and Sam wanted to run to his room and hide. The man looked good (as usual) but sad… wearing the kind of nervous and antsy expression that looked completely foreign on his usually confident face.

Sam wanted to deal with a sad Bucky, or _any_ Bucky, about as much as he wanted a hole in the head. 

“You see me. Now, what the hell could you possibly want?”

“Sam,” he said, a little breathlessly. “I just… Can we talk? Please.”

“No,” Claire answered for him. 

“Claire,” Sam said, giving her a look. “I can speak for myself.” 

“The answer is still no though,” Sam said to Bucky, before stepping in front of Claire. “I don’t have anything to say to you,” he added, and attempted to close the door himself.

“Well, I have plenty to say to you,” Bucky responded, wedging himself between the door and the frame to keep Sam from closing it. “Come on, Sammy. Five minutes of your time is all I’m asking for,” he begged.

Sam had told himself he’d remain strong if he ever happened to see Bucky again, but he could already feel himself wavering. It was way harder to resist those piercing blue eyes when he was actually faced with them than he’d thought it would be. 

“Five minutes?” He asked, tentatively.

“Sam, no,” Claire said, incredulously. “Why should you listen to anything this liar has to say?”

 _Why?_ Well, that was a good question. He knew the smart thing to do would be to tell Bucky to kick rocks and then focus his energy on pretending the man had never existed in the first place, but he just couldn’t do it. The moment he’d laid eyes on Bucky his heart rate had picked up and even though he was pissed at the guy, a small part of him was still happy to see him. 

_Maybe I just need some closure,_ he thought to himself. _Maybe if I just let him say his piece, we can call it a day and my stupid heart (and brain) will stop going in to overdrive every time I so much as think about him._

Sam sighed. “Claire, why don’t you go take a shower and get cleaned up? Then we can go to lunch. This shouldn’t take that long,” he added, giving Bucky a pointed look.

Claire didn’t take a step and she didn’t say a word. Instead, she crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips at Sam in clear disapproval.

“Come on, baby girl,” Sam said, in the most cajoling voice he could manage. “I’ll even treat.”

One eyebrow arched, but she still didn’t move.

“You can pick any place you want. Any.”

Claire exhaled deeply. She didn’t want to argue with Sam or make things any more awkward than they already were, she just wanted to protect him and make sure he didn’t get hurt. But, standing there and refusing his requests probably wasn’t making things any better for him either. 

“Fine, boy,” she said, and started heading back towards the bathroom. “But we’re going to that Mexican place I like and you’re paying for my drinks too.”

Turning back towards Bucky, Sam let out another sigh of his own.

“Okay, I guess you better come inside.”

Bucky gave a silent thanks to God and followed dutifully behind Sam as they went over to the couch. 

“So, you and Claire, huh?” Bucky choked out after a moment, with a sad excuse for a smile on his face. And, Lord, that wasn’t what he’d planned to say at all. But seeing her in Sam’s clothes and pretty much lording over his place, had shaken Bucky’s already weak confidence.

“That’s… nice,” he added, when Sam just stared at him in stony silence. “It’s really—

“Just stop,” Sam interrupted, holding up a hand. “Even though it’s the definition of none of your damn business, Claire and I aren’t together… or sleeping together. It’s been like five days, Bucky.”

Bucky let out a sigh of relief so deep that Sam’s annoyance actually tripled. 

_The nerve of this asshole. It would serve him right if I was sleeping with someone else. He has absolutely no claim on me!_

“Man, you need to go ahead and start talking before I change my mind.”

“Sorry,” he said, somewhat sheepishly. “I… uh… I’m not really sure where I should start.” 

“That’s too bad, considering your five minutes are going fast.”

“What do you want?” Bucky blurted out in the face of Sam’s obvious impatience.

And after seeing Sam’s eyes blink then narrow in response, Bucky couldn’t stop himself from grimacing in return. _Great. Just great._

“I don’t want anything,” Sam snapped, misinterpreting Bucky’s tone. “I’m not the one who showed up on your doorstep, Barnes. In fact, I—

“No, no,” Bucky cut him off, holding up his hands in defense. “I meant, what do you want in general… for your life? I mean, what would your future look like… ummm... ideally?” He asked, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

_Well, ideally my husband would still be alive and we’d be living our happily ever after without ever having to know that either you or Steve existed._

Only, that wasn’t exactly true… was it? Did Sam really want to live in a world where he never knew Bucky, even as a friend or acquaintance? Where he never got to hear the other man’s crazy stories or watch his face when he saw a cool action movie sequence for the first time? Would Sam really be okay with never having seen Bucky’s eyes crinkle just so as he swaggered over to Sam ready to deliver some wild come on? 

Probably not. 

And that right there. That knowledge that even after everything he still had a soft spot for Bucky, more than a soft spot really, is what got him to let Bucky in the door in the first place. 

It’s what got him to answer the question.

“I don’t know, man,” Sam said, and blew out a breath. “I wanted to own a home with space and a yard, where I can spread out. I wanted to have a family of my own,” he went on, honestly, if uncomfortably. “I always pictured Sunday dinners and trips to the park.”

It was true. It was largely why he’d accepted that initial date with Steve. For a long time he’d resigned himself to being a mourning widow forever, but his therapist and family had helped him realize that he could still at least try to have the things he longed for, even if he couldn’t have them with Riley anymore. So, at one point he’d told himself that he was going to give dating a chance again. Hence Steve.

“It wasn’t anything spectacular. I just wanted to be happy.” He shrugged. “I guess.”

“Why do you phrase it like that? In the past tense, I mean?” Bucky asked, his forehead crinkled in confusion.

Sam couldn’t help the snort that came out of him. 

“Why do you think?”

_Well, I’m not gonna get a better opening than that._

“You can still have all those things though,” Bucky said, softly, even though he’d never once seriously thought about having his own family. Kids were for other people. _Normal_ people. But in that moment, hearing Sam talk about it: a house, a family, a peaceful existence, damned if Bucky couldn’t picture it all. And, more than he’d ever wanted anything else, he wanted all that with Sam. Bucky wanted to give Sam everything he could possibly desire. 

“Sam, sweetheart, I… I’m.” He paused, and took a steadying breath. “Sam, I love you. I’m _in love_ with you. I know I fucked up, Sammy. I know I did. But I would gladly spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll give me the chance.”

Sam was in shock. There was no other word for it. Because while he knew Bucky had a thing for him — while he had thought there may be a chance Bucky might pop back up one day, somehow he had not seen this coming. 

_A love confession? Really?_

“Barnes—

“I know it sounds crazy,” Bucky said, shaking his head like he was just as thrown by it as Sam. “I know this whole thing has been crazy — has been plain awful for you. And I know my timing is shitty, _again,_ but that doesn’t make what I’m saying any less true. I’m in love with you, and I want to be with you.”

Sam honestly didn’t know how to respond. He knew that only a little while ago, he’d been sitting in a fancy ass restaurant seriously (if briefly) considering kissing a guy who wasn’t his boyfriend. A guy who he had since come to find he couldn’t trust. A guy who defended his honor and hurt him deeply in the same breath. A guy he hated he was still attracted to. 

A guy who was apparently in love with him. 

So, no, Sam wasn’t quite sure how to respond. He knew that Claire and most of his other friends would probably say: _Kick his ass out and call it a day._ But Sam just couldn’t, not after that little speech. 

“Bucky,” he said, voice an odd mixture of gentleness and annoyance. “I can’t be with you. It’s not even — it’s not even a possibility.”

The _right now_ was implied, at least Bucky prayed to God it was. Even if he didn’t have any logical reason, other than the slightly hesitant look in Sam’s eyes, to believe that.

“Christ, Sammy, I understand that. I just wanted you to know how I feel. I want you in my life forever, any way I can have you. A friend, an acquaintance, whatever,” he said, and it sounded desperate to his own ears. 

_But I don’t want you in my life_. Is what Sam should have said, but he didn’t. Because as ridiculous as it was considering everything that had gone down, he wasn’t positive that he actually felt that way.

“Just give me a chance. _Please_.” 

_A chance to what?_ Sam thought a little hysterically, before saying it out loud. 

“A chance to what exactly? You want to be friends huh?” He asked, laughing slightly.

And, okay, Sam could tell he was starting to lose his filter. But his head was overflowing. He felt mixed up and out of sorts and it was starting to overwhelm him a bit. 

He’d woken up this morning feeling slightly refreshed. The calls had stopped. The gifts were in the dumpster. He was feeling calmer than he had in days, and he was ready to go back to work.

But then, here comes Bucky, with his soulful eyes and fresh haircut, looking and smelling like some sad expensive model. Here comes a guy who’d always managed to make him genuinely happy, make his heart skip a beat. And when he shows up on Sam’s doorstep, it’s with declarations of love and promises of forever dripping from his lips.

And all this before Sam has even had a chance to recover from the _last_ new bit of information he’d learned about one of his romantic partners. 

So, Sam figured he couldn’t be blamed for not exactly holding it together just then.

“Friends?” He repeated. “And how exactly would that work? We meet for a beer and then when it’s time to leave, I’ll go to the hospital and you’ll go sell some drugs? Maybe dismantle some stolen cars?”

“Maybe,” Bucky responded, even though he knew it was rhetorical. “But not for long. I’m getting out, Sam.”

“Right,” he scoffed.

“Swear to God, Sammy; I am. I know we could never have anything, not really, if I’m still doing my dirt. I want to go legit. I want to be done with all of it,” he added vaguely. 

“Well, don’t do it for me,” Sam shot back, even though his head was spinning again. 

“I’m doing it for us, so there can be an us.”

“Bucky,” he snapped. “How can there be an us? You lied to me. For weeks you had me walking around here lookin’ like boo boo the fool.”

“Look, Steve’s my best—

“This isn’t about Steve,” Sam interrupted, heatedly, as he shot off the couch.

“I didn’t know the extent of it, but after a while, I knew Steve wasn’t shit. I put off breaking up with him way longer than I should’ve, and I’ll own that much. But you, I thought you were one of the good ones. I thought you were special. I thought we might—

He cut himself off abruptly, and turned away from Bucky to take a couple of deep breaths. He needed to count to ten. He needed to pull himself together. 

“What?” Bucky said, quickly getting off the couch and walking towards Sam. “You thought we might what?”

For the first time since he’d arrived, Bucky felt a slight burst of hope worm its way through his body.

“Sam, sweetheart,” he said, voice warm and tender, and the sound went straight to Sam’s heart. “What did you think?” 

“Nothing,” Sam choked out.

“Well, I thought we might have something the first time we met,” Bucky practically whispered.

He loosely grabbed Sam’s arm and gently turned Sam to face him.

One look in Sam’s glistening brown eyes, and Bucky couldn’t stop himself from leaning further into his space.

“And now I know we do,” he said, before throwing all caution to the wind and kissing him.

He felt Sam gasp against his lips the second they connected. And then Sam’s hands clenched his shirt and Bucky was sure he was about to get pushed across the room for his audacity. Instead, to the surprise of both of them, Sam simply pulled Bucky closer and deepened the kiss. 

It was perfect. The pressure, the feeling, the desperation. It was simple, just a press of lips, but it was somehow the most passionate act Bucky had ever engaged in. For a moment, for probably the first time in his life, he felt pure happiness. 

But only for a moment. 

Then Sam was pushing him away. And while Bucky’s body was practically vibrating with joy, Sam looked panicked… and maybe a little bit ashamed. 

_No._ Bucky couldn’t have that.

“Sam—

“Just, don’t okay?” Sam said, looking down.

“Baby,” he said, and took a step towards Sam, who in turn took a step back.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Come on,” Bucky said, trying a different tact. “I know you feel it too.”

“That’s not the point,” he snapped back without thinking about what he was saying. Or, more importantly, what he wasn’t saying. He wasn’t denying it. 

“It’s the only point that matters.”

Sam shook his head. “Man, you know that’s not true.”

“It is to me though,” Bucky swore. “It’s enough. It’s a start.”

“It’s nothing, Bucky,” Sam lied. Oh, he knew what he’d felt from that kiss, but he also knew that feeling it was insane. “ _We’re_ nothing.”

“That’s really how you feel?”

“Yes!”

“So you’d be fine with never seeing me again?” Bucky asked, moving a little closer to Sam. “You’d be cool with us never talking again? With us being nothing more than a couple of guys who knew each other once upon a time?”

“Cause I’m not Steve, Sammy. I came over here today because I thought I’d be screwing both of us over if I never told you how I felt. But I won’t keep bugging you. Loving you, being in love with you, it means respecting your wishes too. And if you truly don’t want anything to do with me, I’ll walk out that door right now and I swear to God I’ll never look back,” he promised, sincerity dripping from every word he said. 

“So,” he said, and took the risk of brushing the back of his hand across Sam’s cheek. “Do you want me to go, sweetheart? You want me to disappear outta your life forever?”

 _Say yes, you idiot. Say yes!_ The common sense part of his brain screamed. But he just couldn’t get the words out of his mouth. 

Bucky gave him a moment, holding his breath while he nervously awaited Sam’s response, but there was only silence.

And that silence spoke volumes. 

“Okay then,” Bucky said, nodding to himself, and using every ounce of restraint he had to keep from grinning like an idiot. 

Sam sighed, closing his eyes briefly. “Bucky—

“I don’t expect anything from you right now, or ever really,” Bucky interrupted, rushing to explain before Sam could lend voice to whatever concerns he was obviously still having. 

“I’m not trying to pressure you. That’s not…” Buck trailed off in frustration. He wanted to make sure he got the words just right. “I just… I just wanted to know that there was a chance — a chance that you at least still wanted to know me.”

_Wanting you was never the problem._

“Bucky,” he tried again, but Bucky cut him off again.

“It’s a lot; I know.” Bucky gave him a tiny soft smile. “Coming here out of the blue and springin’ all this on you, I know it’s a lot to deal with. A lot to think about.”

 _Understatement of the year,_ Sam thought, but he couldn’t do too much more than grunt in response. Not when he felt like his brain might explode.

“So, I’ll get out of your hair. I’ve got some stuff I’ve gotta take care of anyway,” Bucky added vaguely, but an oddly determined look flashed across his face. He was back to smiling tentatively at Sam a second later, but Sam had definitely seen it. And it sparked his curiosity enough that he added it to his constantly growing list of things to think about later.

“Maybe I could uhh… call you later? If you unblock me.” 

Sam’s eyes widened comically. _The audacity of this fool._

“Or not,” Bucky said quickly after seeing the look on Sam’s face. “Just think about it huh? Think about everything, sweetheart. Okay?” He added, then leaned forward and kissed Sam on the cheek (because apparently that was a thing they did now?). 

And just like that, he was gone.

Sam stared after him dazedly for maybe a full minute, before saying out loud: “What. The. Fuck?”

“Sam,” Claire said, from behind him, and he could hear the disapproval and disappointment so clearly in that one word.

“I know.” 

He didn’t bother to turn around to see the judgement on her face. Who knew how long she’d been there, or how much she’d heard. 

“I know, okay? I get it. But I don’t want to talk about it right now,” he said, and she could tell from his tone he was dead serious. 

And he was. Sam didn’t want to talk about it. Hell, he didn’t even want to think about it. At least not until he was alone. 

As much as Sam loved Claire, as much as he valued her opinion, this wasn’t something he was going to let her or anyone else deal with for him. Bucky was in love with him, and as much as he was loathed to admit it, after everything that had gone down he still had feelings for Bucky too. And he’d ultimately have to decide what to do about that, not anyone else.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Feedback is always appreciated!
> 
> Chapter Title: Boyz II Men


	16. They Don’t Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky isn’t through sharing quite yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas Eve Eve 🎄 and Happy Holidays!!! Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos!!

Bucky had been sitting in the parking lot of Sarah’s Place for about five minutes wondering just how the hell he’d gotten there. Okay, truthfully, he knew how he’d gotten there — why he’d come there. He’d been so high on adrenaline from his time with Sam, from _kissing_ Sam. From having Sam kiss him back. 

Bucky had left Sam’s apartment feeling pretty invincible, like he could accomplish anything. So he drove straight to the bar, breaking every traffic law known to man, finally ready to face Steve and be upfront about everything: his plans to leave the business; his plans to be with Sam. 

Once he’d actually arrived at Sarah’s though, reality had set in and Bucky started to lose his nerve almost immediately. He was essentially about to walk into the lion’s den and sever a thirty year friendship, not to mention a lengthy partnership, in the most heinous way possible. Well, actually, he was pretty sure he’d already severed the friendship, but Bucky knew he was about to blow everything to hell and frankly it was scary. 

Scary, but necessary. Bucky wanted Sam in his life, now and forever. And if this is what he had to do to make that happen, then that’s what he would do. 

So, he got out of the car and tucked his favorite glock into the holster that now rested at his shoulder. (He didn’t actually think he was going to need it, but he wasn’t about to take the risk of leaving it in his glove compartment either.) And he felt his pocket to make sure he had everything: phone, wallet, keys… switchblade, and then locked his car and headed towards the door. 

Right as he was walking in, Bucky saw Tony heading out and sighed. _Is this an omen?_ Bucky had never known Stark to _not_ be on some bullshit, and he had the feeling this time wasn’t going to be the exception.

“Stark,” he grunted, and started to walk past him, but Tony stopped and tried to block his path. 

“Barnes.” Tony shook his head, his ever present smirk upon his face. “When I heard, I almost didn’t believe it. But I guess the old saying is true: you really can never trust a big butt and a smile.”

 _Don’t take the bait. Don’t respond,_ he thought, but it was futile. Stark had always held the ability to get under Bucky’s skin and get a reaction out of him, and this time was no different. 

“Excuse me?”

“Well, I mean, this thing with you and Wilson. I know he’s fine and all, and that ass is definitely,” he brought his fingers to his lips and made a kissing gesture, “exquisite. But, still, I can’t believe you screwed Steve over for him,” he said, disdainfully. 

Now this was definitely the regular Stark bullshit, but too bad for Tony though, he wasn’t catching Bucky on a regular day. 

“I mean, what is it about the guy? Does he have a magic cock or something?” 

And, yeah, that was it. 

Bucky swiftly closed the distance between himself and Tony, and grabbed the other man by the collar, lifting him off the ground slightly in the process. 

“You’re comfortable,” he said, gaze boring into Tony’s rapidly blinking eyes. “And I get it. I really do. All these years, and I’ve never touched you, cause even though you’re a prick, you were still my buddy. Besides, Steve always said we owed you one. And we did, once upon a time, but not anymore. So consider your asshole grace period officially over.” 

He tightened his grip, and gave Tony a little shake. “Got it? Now, the next time you insult Sam, or degrade Sam, or even so much as mention Sam, I’m gonna forget about that practically nonexistent soft spot we all have for you, and do everyone a favor and cut your tongue right out of that annoying ass mouth of yours.”

Tony’s eyes were as wide as saucers at this point. Sure, they weren’t the closest in the group. They had always been more frienemies than actual friends. But Bucky had never threatened him before. Well, at least, Bucky had never threatened him in a way he took seriously before. 

But from the menacing look in his eyes, Tony could tell he wasn’t playing around.

“Do you understand me?” Bucky asked, driving the point home. 

“Yeah, okay. Christ. I understand.”

“Good,” Bucky said, and abruptly dropped Tony to his feet, pushing him away in the process. 

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” Bucky said, not even bothering to give Tony another look. “I’ve got some business to take care of.” 

As shaken as he was, Tony couldn’t stop himself from staring after the other man as he disappeared into the bar. 

See, when Tony first saw Bucky approaching a few moments ago, he’d assumed the guy was coming crawling back, ready to make amends with Steve. However, it was clear from their brief interaction that Bucky had no intentions of giving up Sam Wilson anytime soon. 

And that had Tony worried. Sure, they were a motley crew, and some people got along way better than others, but that didn’t mean he wanted to see the group break up. 

_Oh well,_ he thought, as he made his way through the parking lot to where he had parked his new car a safe distance away from all the beaters that belonged to the customers. _There’s nothing I can do about it now._

Tony knew Steve and Bucky would just have to have it out. 

_Hopefully they’ll both still be standing when it’s all said and done._

******

Natasha noticed him as soon as he walked in. And when he approached the bar, she took a long look at him, sizing him up in that way of hers that always made people uncomfortable, and then she shook her head.

“Really?”

“What?” 

“You chose Wilson, didn’t you?” She asked, clearly disappointed. 

Bucky blinked. _Is it that obvious that I’m not here to kiss Steve’s ass?_

“Tasha,” he started to explain himself, but she held up a hand and interrupted him.

“You know nothing’s ever gonna be the same now, right? If you go in there and say what I think you’re gonna say, everything is gonna change, James.”

“You’re the one who told me I needed to make a choice. You’re the one who said I should decide whether I still wanted to try to be with Sam.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, thoughtfully. “I guess I just never thought you wouldn’t choose Steve… or the rest of us.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed in confusion when he replied.

“I’m getting out and cutting ties with Steve, but I’m not ditching the rest of you. We’re still gonna be friends, Tasha.”

She shook her head again and gave him a small smile. 

“Right.”

They would all always have a connection, but she didn’t see how he could pretend that everything wasn’t going to be different if he went through with this. He wasn’t just leaving Steve, or leaving the game, he was leaving all of them. The little family they’d all come together to create way back when. 

She certainly didn’t blame Bucky for wanting out, or for wanting to settle down and be happy, but that didn’t change the fact that him moving on was going to hurt. 

“I mean it,” Bucky said, fiercely. “It’s not like I’m gonna disappear or something.”

“Okay,” she said, but she didn’t really believe him. 

“Tasha—

“He’s in the back,” she said, cutting him off, as she turned around to fiddle with some bottles behind the bar. “You might as well go deliver the bad news.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, quite taken aback at Natasha’s attitude. 

He had expected some of the crew to take Steve’s side and label him a traitor, but it had honestly never crossed his mind that Natasha would have such a problem with this. It never occurred to him that she of all people would think he’d drop her just because they didn’t work together anymore. 

“But I’ll talk to you later,” he added, sternly. 

He waited a moment for her to acknowledge what he said, but when he realized she wasn’t going to say anything else, he sighed and headed on back towards Steve’s office.

He felt bad for walking away when Natasha was clearly upset, but he had a feeling he was going to need to reserve all his “deal with an emotional friend” energy for Steve. 

And with that in mind he gave a not so gentle knock on Steve’s door before walking in without waiting for a response. 

_No sense in being polite at this point._

Steve almost choked on his scotch when he saw Bucky. But he refused to let Bucky see just how much his unexpected arrival had shaken him, so he leaned back in his seat and lit a cigarette to cover his surprise.

“So, did ducking and dodging me get old or somethin’?” He asked with a sardonic little smirk on his face. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever show your face around here again.”

Bucky lifted an eyebrow at Steve in disbelief, as he took the seat across from Steve’s desk. It sure as hell wasn’t like Steve had made any attempts to seek him out the past few days, so an argument could be made for who was ducking who. He’d let Steve have this moment though; the guy wasn’t gonna be smiling too much longer.

“Well, I needed a couple of days to gather my thoughts.”

“And what — now you want to apologize?”

 _Well…_ that wasn’t why he’d come, but he did owe Steve one, just probably not the apology Steve expected.

“I am sorry, Steve,” he said, earnestly. “I’m sorry I let things get this far — get this fucked up — without being straight with you. I should’ve told you how I felt from jump. So,” he took a deep breath, “here it goes: I’m in love with Sam. I want to be with Sam. I’ve wanted to be with Sam since that first night I met him, and I should have just told you that instead of acting like I only wanted to be his friend.”

“We were best friends and I owed you my honesty, and for that, I am truly sorry.”

Steve felt as if all the air had left his body. In that moment he couldn’t do anything but stare at Bucky incredulously while the other man continued to talk.

“That’s the only thing I’m sorry for though,” Bucky added, all hints of remorse falling from his gaze. “I’m glad I told Sam about all the shit we do, and all the shit you’ve lied to him about. My only regret is that I didn’t tell him sooner.”

The anger was practically vibrating off of Steve. _This_ had not been what he was expecting. He’d assumed that when Bucky showed up it would be with apologies on his lips; ready to redeem himself, ready to set things right. Instead, Bucky was sitting there, looking as nonchalant as he would if they were talking about the weather, while he told Steve with a straight face that he didn’t care that he’d basically ruined his life. 

Steve sat down his cigarette carefully, giving Bucky the kind of narrowed eyed gaze he’d been using on people for years to scare them back into submission.

“Did you forget who the fuck you’re talking to?”

Bucky actually laughed at that.

“Did you?” He replied, reaching out to grab Steve’s abandoned cigarette, and then puffed on it lazily. 

“Contrary to what you seem to think lately, I’m not one of your little lackeys. You don’t scare me.” 

He took another drag of the cigarette, before finishing it off and stubbing it out. All the while staring at Steve as if he didn’t have a care in the world. 

“Why are you here, Bucky?” Steve asked after a moment. It was becoming more obvious in each second that Bucky had more to share than his fucked up love confession. 

“I told Sam how I felt,” he replied, bluntly. “I think we’re gonna try to make a go of it.”

 _I hope we’re going to try to make a go of it,_ he corrected internally. He didn’t want to misrepresent his relationship with Sam, but he figured it would be better if Steve thought Sam was already his. 

“No,” Steve said, flatly.

“No?”

“Yeah,” Steve answered, leaning forward in his seat a little. “No. It’s not even an option. But, even if it was, you must have lost your goddamn mind if you really think I’d let you just run off and have what was supposed to be _my_ happy ending with _my_ guy.”

Bucky snorted. “Well, one, you can’t stop me from doing shit. And, two, it’s an option. I just left from Sam’s place, and, believe me,” he said, smirking at Steve, “it’s _definitely_ an option.”

It took a lot, but Steve managed to keep his cool and ignore the suggestive look Bucky was sending him. Instead of letting his anger show, he let out a snort of his own.

“Sam Wilson dating the friendly neighborhood drug dealer. Yeahhhh… I think the fuck not. You may think you love Sam, but I know Sam. There’s no way he’d ever knowingly be with someone like us.”

“I agree,” Bucky said, returning Steve’s sad imitation of a smile. “Which is exactly why I’m getting out the game.”

“ _What?_ ”

“You always said this was a business, Steve. So, consider this my two weeks notice. I’m done,” Bucky told him flatly, but he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty at the complete look of shock and betrayal on Steve’s face. 

“This isn’t a bank,” Steve said, through clenched teeth. “We sell dope. We own businesses together. We have… _commitments_ to some very loyal customers. You can’t just walk away from that.”

“Yeah, I can.”

“No, you can’t,” Steve replied, face getting redder by the second. 

“I can, and I am. I’ll sign my part of the businesses over to Tasha. She knows everything I know. She can handle the shop and everything else I run. She’s gonna _have_ to handle it, cause I am done,” he repeated.

“I’m sorry it had to be like this,” Bucky said, genuinely, as he stood up and smoothed out his jacket. “But I love Sam; I’m gonna do whatever I have to do to make it possible for him to be in my life, and nobody’s gonna mess it up for me. Not even you.”

Steve stood up too, and Bucky could see his fists clenched at his sides.

“That a threat, Buck?” 

“No, Stevie; it’s a promise. See, I know you; I know how your mind works. I bet you’ve been blowing up Sam’s phone the past few days, sending him a bunch of gifts and shit, and being a nuisance in general. And I’m telling you, flat out, it stops now. You keep bothering Sam, you try to come between us or make problems for me while I’m trying to leave, and I promise you, you’ll regret it.”

“Sam’s none of your business,” he continued, after pausing a moment to let his previous words sink in. “And once I get everything set for Natasha to take over, I’ll officially be none of your business too.”

Bucky could admit to himself, that it hurt to say that — hurt to know it was true. But he just kept telling himself that it was worth it. Sam was worth it. And even though it was painful, he wasn’t second guessing himself about his decision. 

Steve, on the other hand, was second guessing everything he thought he knew. Having his best friend stand there and tell him all this was truly blowing his mind. Bucky telling Sam about everything had been one thing, but this — Bucky leaving the business without a second thought, _and_ basically telling him that he and Sam were together now and Sam was off limits to him — was too fucking much. Steve thought he’d been angry the other day at Sam’s apartment, but the rage he felt at this moment was all consuming. 

“You really think,” he began, voice almost shaking with fury, “that I’m gonna let this happen, that I’m gonna let you do this? I’ll—

“I think you don’t have a choice,” Bucky said, shrugging and not looking the least bit concerned, which only served to increase Steve’s anger tenfold.

“Sam’s mine now,” he continued, bluntly. “I’m leaving the game. Deal with it.”

 _Oh, I’ll deal with it alright,_ Steve thought to himself, but Bucky was already walking out of the room, before he could even form a response.

He had tried to stay cool and unbothered while talking to Steve, but Bucky couldn’t help but grimace as he headed out the bar. He knew he had been far more insensitive than he’d strictly needed to be, knew his demeanor had been harsh to say the least.

But he also knew Steve well enough to know that the way he acted in that office had been necessary. You had to come at Steve hard unless you wanted him to walk all over you. Steve was a master at playing on people’s weaknesses and using their kindness against them. If Bucky had approached him with kid gloves, it only would’ve made Steve think he didn’t have to take Bucky seriously. 

So, yeah, the sharp words and explicit threats had definitely been necessary, but that didn’t mean that Bucky didn’t feel bad about them. 

******

“Just say it.” Sam finally snapped after the third time Claire looked at him and shook her head.

“Huh?” She said, her face suddenly the picture of innocence, as she took a healthy gulp from her second margarita.

“Whatever it is you’re thinking, just go ahead and say it,” he responded. “I know I said I didn’t want to talk about it, and quite frankly, I don’t. But if the alternative is you just staring at me in silent judgement, then I’d rather you said whatever’s on your mind.”

“Fine!” She replied, feeding off his irritated tone. “What the hell were you thinking letting that man in your home again?”

Claire knew she was crossing the line from friendly concern to inappropriately nosy, but she just couldn’t help herself.

Sam was too nice for his own damn good, and always had been. Which is why she’d parked herself on his couch the past few days. Why she’d dropped Steve’s crap, including the ring he’d conveniently left on Sam’s floor, at the post office and paid the shipping costs herself. Why she’d tried her damnedest to close the door in Bucky’s face. 

Claire knew that left to his own devices, Sam might crack and let one of those idiots back into his life, so she’d stuck to him like glue and tried to make sure he stayed strong. But even with her literally being right there, Bucky had managed to not only worm his way in, but she’d caught enough to know he’d managed to get a kiss too. 

So, yeah, she knew she was probably being a judgmental brat, but she couldn’t help it.

“I don’t know.” He sighed. “I was thinking I might get some closure or something.”

“All you got was his tongue in your mouth,” she mumbled under her breath.

“Nobody’s tongue went into anybody’s mouth,” he said, rolling his eyes. “We barely kissed.”

“Yeah, right.” She scoffed. “So are you two together now or what?”

“No!”

“But you want to be though, don’t you?”

“Claire, I just want to be happy,” he said, tiredly.

“And Bucky Barnes is gonna do that? That… that lying drug dealing _gangster_ is gonna make you happy?” 

“Claire—

“I’m sorry, okay?” She interrupted, not sounding too sorry at all. “I’m not trying to nag you or be a bitch about it, but come on. You really want to jump out of the frying pan that was Steve and into the fire that is Bucky?”

“Bucky’s not Steve. He’s not like Steve,” Sam said, more reflexively than anything.

But while she stared at him incredulously, he started to realize that he’d actually meant it. Bucky wasn’t Steve. Bucky had lied and done him dirty, but his list of Sam related crimes didn’t really compare to Steve’s. Sam wasn’t ready to give the guy a pass or anything, but he could at least acknowledge that he wasn’t some stalking psycho.

“Really?” She scoffed. “They seem like two peas in a pod to me.”

“Bucky’s no saint, but he’s nowhere near Steve’s level,” Sam shot back, even while he thought: _Christ. I’m defending the guy now._

“Great. He’s not a stalker, he just covered up for one. Let’s throw the guy a parade.” 

Sam sighed. “He was wrong. I know that, okay? I, of all people, know that, but still… Steve is — _was_ — his best friend for years. I mean, Bucky is basically Steve’s _you._ Are you gonna sit up here and tell me you wouldn’t cover for me if I was lying to my significant other about something?”

“Okay, first off all, we both know I’d hide a body with you,” Claire said, rolling her eyes and gesturing dismissively. “That’s not the issue. _My point is_ , we’d never put ourselves in a situation like this in the first place cause our friends don’t sell drugs or beat people up or _stalk their significant others!”_

“Claire,” he began, only to be cut off.

“No, you invited me to speak my mind. So, I’m a speak my mind. I think you’re making a mistake,” she said, bluntly. “I think opening up yourself to Bucky and his whole world is just inviting trouble — inviting _hurt._ And don’t you think you’ve had enough hurt to last a lifetime?”

Sam just sat there for a moment. He may have told her to say what was on her mind, but Lord he did not want to hear it. He knew what “hurt” she was alluding to, and he felt like mentioning it was a low blow, even if it wasn’t exactly unwarranted. 

“Okay,” he said, after taking a minute to compose himself and gather his thoughts. “You’ve said your piece, now it’s my turn. Yes, things have been hard lately, and I’m so glad you’ve been around. I’m so glad you want to help and be there for me. You’re a great friend.” 

He paused and took a deep breath, and then added, “But that’s all I need, Claire. A friend. Not a babysitter, not a life coach.”

She sighed. “Sammy, I just want you to be okay.”

“Me too,” he said, then gave a short laugh. “Hell, maybe letting Bucky in the door will ultimately prove to have been a mistake. But, I don’t know, I guess I’m willing to take that chance.”

“But—

“I like him, Claire. God help me, but _I like him._ A lot. I wish I didn’t, but I do. These past few days I’ve been so pissed at him, but I’ve also missed him so much. I hate that I feel this way, but... _I do_.”

 _Oh, Sam,_ she thought. He looked so damn tortured about it, that she started to feel bad. He clearly already felt conflicted about having feelings for Bucky, and here she was probably making everything worse by second guessing his choices. She sighed again. It wasn’t like she thought he couldn’t take care of himself, but that was probably exactly how she was making him feel. 

_Damn it._ She didn’t want to drive Sam away over this. As far as she was concerned, if he was going to let this guy back into his life, then Sam was going to need his real friends now more than ever.

“Fine. Okay _,_ boy. I get it; you like him and it’s your life. If you can find a way to give him another chance, then I guess I can too.”

“Really?” He asked, skeptically.

“Really.” She nodded. “I may not trust his ass as far as I can throw him, but I trust your judgement.”

“Thanks, baby girl,” he said, giving her a small smile.

“You’re welcome,” she said, smiling and giving his hand a quick squeeze. 

_And when this one inevitably fucks up too, I won’t even say I told you so._

“Now,” she clapped her hands together, “since you’re buying, let’s get another pitcher of margaritas.” 

Sam rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling when he raised his hand to hail their waitress. Knowing Claire supported him, even if he was making a mistake, immediately made him feel better. 

******

Steve had started to call in everyone from his most trusted people to the guys who simply owed him a couple of favors or a few bucks, but in the end he thought better of it. This was a sensitive matter, a delicate matter. So he figured he needed quality, not quantity.

That’s how Natasha, Clint, Tony, and Scott ended up sitting in the bar after hours. Their expressions ranging from slightly irritated like Natasha, to downright nervous like Scott. 

They’d been listening to Steve talk (yell) for the past fifteen minutes. Every time he appeared to be winding down, he got revved right back up again. Who knows how long he might’ve kept talking if Natasha hadn’t finally snapped and interrupted him.

“We get it — you’re pissed,” she said, with a boldness born of having known him longer than anyone else in the room. “But why did you call us all back here in the middle of the night?”

Her tone was even, and if anything she looked a mixture of annoyed and bored. But she’d be lying if she said that she wasn’t still feeling thrown off kilter by the news herself. It was just better if Steve didn’t know that. The last thing he needed was to think everyone else was as angry as he was, because he’d start to feed off that feeling and then really go crazy.

“I mean, honestly Steve, this definitely sucks, but there’s not much we can do about it.”

“The fuck we can’t,” Steve said, looking at her as if she’d lost her mind. “I want Sam, and I want Bucky’s head on a spike!”

Everyone’s eyes widened slightly while they all traded not so subtle looks, but it was Scott who was the first to speak up.

“But Sam doesn’t want you though… right?” He said, voice stilted. “I mean, there’s not much we can do about that... is there?”

“And, yeah, Bucky fucked up,” Scott went on, still sounding cautious. “But he’s still one of us. And we don’t go after each other… do we?”

“No, we don’t,” Tony answered, earning a surprised look from everyone. 

He could understand why. He and Bucky had always mixed like oil and water; they had never cared for one another. But, against outsiders, they’d always had each other’s back. And that was what had drawn Tony to this group in the first place — their loyalty to one another, their closeness. 

Tony knew that even though Bucky had literally threatened him earlier that day, if he called Bucky right now and said, “I’m in trouble. I need you.” Bucky would show up. Oh, he’d talk cash shit about it, and tomorrow they’d go right back to not liking each other, but he’d still come. 

Yeah, Bucky had messed up. Yeah, Bucky was an asshole. But Bucky was their asshole. Even though he had screwed Steve over, even though he wanted to retire, he was still a part of them.

Even if Steve didn’t want to admit it.

“The first rule of the Rogers Barnes Drug Dealers Club is don’t go after another member of the Rogers Barnes Drug Dealers Club,” Tony said, smirking at Steve as if he thought it might actually lighten the mood.

It did not.

“He went after me first,” Steve replied, heatedly.

“Steve, man, I don’t know much about it,” Clint lied. He certainly knew more than he wished he did. “But I think he just fell in love,” he added, as gently as he could. “I don’t… I don’t think it was personal.”

“It wasn’t,” Natasha said. 

Her tone was flat, but inside she was thanking God that everyone seemed to be on the same page as her. The “downplay this thing as much as possible” page. 

Their group was way looser than other organizations because they were all friends, but Steve and Bucky had always been recognized as the leaders. The last thing she wanted was for Steve to give them a direct order that they’d have to disobey. 

“Bucky wouldn’t set out to intentionally hurt you.”

“That’s funny,” Steve said, sardonically, leveling Natasha with a look. “It feels awfully personal to me.”

Nobody was willing to flat out agree with Steve, so none of them had a response to that. While they were sure Bucky hadn’t woken up one morning and decided to fuck Steve over, that didn’t change the fact that he most definitely had. But, still…

“Okay, fine,” Natasha said, with a shrug. “It’s personal, then it stays between the two of you.” She blew out a breath, and asked, “So, why are we here Steve?”

Something about her tone — Steve felt like her question was more of a dare than anything else.

And in that moment, Steve could see it in her eyes as plain as day: they were not going to do anything to Bucky. Oh, they might have been on his side — they might have agreed that Bucky was in the wrong — but they still wouldn’t turn on the guy, not completely. Not enough to actually go to war against him. 

“You can’t ask us to choose, Steve,” she continued softly, trying to be more sensitive as she confirmed exactly what he was thinking. 

“It’s not fair. I mean, come on, I literally met you two the same day. You’re my boss, and you’re my friend too… but so is Bucky.” _Even if he is leaving us for greener pastures,_ she added silently, still pissed that he’d chosen someone else over their business — their _family._

Just not pissed enough to do anything to him. And she had the feeling that was pretty much how everyone else felt too. 

“Look Steve,” she said, standing up. “You want to go after Bucky, you want to try to win over a guy who clearly, and let’s face it, rightfully, wants nothing to do with you—

Everyone’s eyes widened at that, especially Steve’s. Natasha had always been allowed a certain... freedom with Steve and Bucky because she’d known them almost as long as they knew each other, but still, that was a bit much even for her. 

“— then be our guest. You want to duke it out with Bucky, then that’s totally your right. He did fuck you over. Nobody is gonna stop you, Rogers. But don’t expect us to help either,” she said, and then walked out the office.

Everyone sort of stared after her a moment, unsure of what to say. But, eventually, like he’d alway done, Clint took his cue from Natasha and stood up too. 

“Sorry man,” he said to Steve. “If it was anyone else, I’d be right there with you. Bucky’s an asshole for this, and I’m completely on your side, but…” he trailed off with a shrug, and gave Steve an apologetic look before walking out too. 

Tony opened his mouth to speak, but Steve cut him off.

“Save it,” he snapped. “You guys don’t wanna get involved? Then get the fuck out.”

“Steve, man,” Scott tried to speak, but Steve slammed his fist on the desk. 

“Just go!”

They’d both seen Steve angry enough times to know that he wasn’t messing around. So they left without another word before he could really get going.

As he watched them leave, Steve understood that calling in his oldest, most trusted, friends had been a mistake. His oldest friends were also Bucky’s oldest friends, so, really, he should’ve known better.

 _That’s okay though_ , he thought, lighting a cigarette to calm his nerves. _If they don’t want to help, that’s fine. But they better not interfere either._

He was already forming new plans. He didn’t care if he had to do it alone, he didn’t care how long it took. Steve was going to make Bucky pay for this one way or another.

And if he could manage to get Sam back in the process, then even better.

*******

Bucky leaned back on his couch, put his feet on the coffee table, popped the top off his beer and sighed deeper than he probably had in years. 

According to the somewhat terse text he’d just received from Tasha, his chat with Steve had made the man more enraged that cowed. She’d actually written “watch your back” in bold. 

_So much for coming on strong in hopes of nipping this thing in the bud._ _Ehhh oh well,_ he thought, as he took a giant gulp of beer. 

It had been worth a shot. If Steve wanted to pull some dumb shit and try to get at him, then he’d be ready. Bucky had spent a lifetime watching his back, watching other people’s backs, handling Steve shouldn’t be a problem. It was the waiting for Steve to actually make a move that was going to be nerve wracking.

But, oh well, Bucky figured he’d just add it to the list of everything else he was thinking about. It wasn’t really a long list though. Sam was pretty much the only other thing occupying his mind.

Sam, their kiss, the fact that he’d told Sam he loved him and the other man hadn’t gone running for the hills — Bucky couldn’t get over it. He had spent every second of downtime he’d had since seeing Sam, replaying the whole thing over and over in his head. 

Hell, it had actually taken everything in him not to go back over to Sam’s place after he left his lawyer’s office that afternoon following his talk with Steve. Visions of giving Sam a goodnight kiss had swam through his head, but he knew visiting twice in the same day after the talk they’d had would be too much. He said he would give Sam time to think, and he would, no matter how badly he wanted to spend more time with him. 

_But… a goodnight text can’t hurt, right?_ Bucky thought, and grabbed his phone. _Besides, I’m probably still blocked anyway, so it’s not like he will even know._

 _Hey, baby,_ he typed out. The endearment felt kind of presumptuous, but… he’d been being presumptuous with Sam since about the moment he’d met the guy, so why not… 

_Hey, baby. I just wanted to say thanks again for letting me in the door this afternoon. Getting to see you again — getting to hear your voice again, made me so happy, sweetheart. So thank you. Truly._

He knew he sounded gooey as hell, but every word of it was true, so he bit the bullet and went ahead and hit send. 

Bucky stared at his phone for a while, way longer than he’d ever admit to, but a response never came. 

Eventually, he picked up the remote and started switching around until he landed on TBS which was playing _Die Hard_. 

_Of fucking course_.

“This is a sign right?” He thought aloud, and then picked up his phone to send another text. 

He’d normally never double text, but Sam was apparently still blocking him, so what would it hurt? 

But right when he picked up his phone to type out another message, he saw the dots floating as if someone were responding. Then about ten seconds later, when Bucky was literally holding his breath in anticipation, the message came through:

_You’re welcome, Barnes. Please don’t make me regret it._

There were so many responses that Bucky wanted to send, but he felt like they were all too heavy and overwhelming — the kinds of things that he should probably say in person instead of through text. So, in the end he settled on:

_I won’t. I promise, sweetheart._

After he sent the message, he thought a minute then sent one more:

_Talk to you tomorrow… please?_

There was a pause, before Sam finally replied:

_Goodnight, Barnes._

It wasn’t a confirmation, but it certainly wasn’t a no, and it had Bucky grinning like it was a yes. 

_Goodnight, baby,_ he sent back, feeling way happier than he probably should’ve.

Steve was up to something. Tasha was in her feelings about what was going on. Everything was way more complicated and messy than he ever could’ve imagined, BUT Sam had unblocked him. 

Sam. Had. Unblocked. Him. Sam had kissed him back. Sam was giving him a chance. So, yeah, Bucky was pretty damn happy. It may take a while, but everything was going to work out. Bucky was sure of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Feedback is appreciated!
> 
> Chapter Title: Jon B


	17. Exhale (Shoop Shoop)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A stressful dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos!!

“So, have you and Luca Brasi had your first official date yet?” Claire asked, when she couldn’t hold back her curiosity any longer.

She and Sam were in his car on their way to his parents’ house for an early Sunday dinner. This was their first time hanging out, other than on quick breaks at work, since she had packed her bag last week and finally gave up her lease on his couch. After Sam let Bucky in the door and then did his whole lunchtime reveal and confessed that he really liked the guy, she didn’t see the need to continue on in her role as bodyguard. If Sam wanted to hook up with Bucky, she wouldn’t cockblock… no matter how badly she may have wanted to.

That didn’t mean that Claire wasn’t wondering what was going on with the two of them though, even if she had promised herself that she would try not to be so nosy.

“Luca Brasi?” Sam sighed. “Really?”

Claire just shrugged innocently and sent Sam an expectant look.

Sam rolled his eyes, but he still gave her a response.

“To answer your question: no. We’ve just been texting back and forth for the most part. The other day I agreed to meet up with him later tonight. I thought that would at least give me some time to get used to the idea of seeing him again, but I don’t know how well it worked.”

“Dinner with your parents; drinks with your own  _ personal _ godfather. You have quite a busy day planned, huh Sammy?”

“You know they’re not mobbed up, right?” Sam said, not for the first time wondering how he could even defend the guy. 

_ ‘Cause you like him, dumbass.  _

“If you say so,” she said, shrugging.

“Claire— 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know I said I’d give him a chance, and I am, but it’s like I can’t help it,” she replied, sounding more repentant than she actually was. 

“I don’t even know why I invited your negative butt in the first place.”

Sam was concentrating on parallel parking in front of his parents’ house when he said it, but he still didn’t miss the knowing look Claire sent him.

“Hmmm I’m not sure why you invited me either, but I’m guessing it’s so I can run interference when you finally tell your family that you broke up with Steve and  _ why  _ you broke up with Steve,” she said, pointedly.

Which, okay, she wasn’t that far off from the truth, but still… couldn’t she be a little more gracious about it?

“Maybe,” he replied, somewhat grudgingly, as he turned off the car. “You know how my family can be; they’re supportive as hell, but I already know they’re gonna try to play twenty questions, and I’m not up for it.”

She actually snorted at that. “Yeah, I wouldn’t be up for the questions they’re gonna ask once they know the whole truth either.”

“Which is why I’m not gonna tell them the  _ whole  _ truth.”

“Boy, please. You’re like the worst liar in the world.”

“I’m not gonna lie,” he shot back. “I just don’t think they need all the gory details.”

Claire was of the opinion that Sam’s family and friends definitely needed to know, so they could talk him out of this relationship or whatever the hell he wanted to call what he was doing with Bucky. But, like the good friend she was, she kept her mouth shut. 

“Please just have my back in there, Claire. Okay?” He asked, turning to face her.

“Of course,” she replied, reaching over to give his hand a quick squeeze. “I’ll always have your back.”

_ Even if I think you’re making a mistake.  _

******

“So,” Paul Wilson said, as soon as Sam dug his fork into his piece of peach cobbler, and Sam couldn’t help but brace himself.

Things had been a little off as soon as he and Claire had walked into the door and Sam wasn’t sure why. His parents had known Claire and her family forever — the Temples went to his father’s church way before she and Sam ever dated in school. His mama and daddy loved Claire and she occasionally came over their house with Sam, especially after the two of them had started working together at the hospital. So Sam knew it wasn’t her being there that was throwing them off. 

_ Do they already know about Steve?  _ Sam thought nervously, then brushed his worry aside.  _ How could they possibly know? _

“When you said, ‘we’ll be there,’  _ we  _ thought you were referring to you and Steven.” Paul took a sip of his coffee, and glanced pointedly at Sam over the rim of his mug.

And, okay, Sam’s worry was back in full force. His dad couldn’t have known what exactly was going on, but he had apparently already guessed that there was trouble in paradise. 

“In fact, come to think of it, we haven’t seen him around here for a while,” he added, after he sat his cup back down. “He’s always busy or at work whenever you come by lately.”

That was a pretty big hint if Sam had ever heard one, and usually he would have just spilled his guts immediately in response to his father’s famous no nonsense face, but…  _ Can’t I just enjoy my pie first? _

“Paul, leave my baby alone,” Darlene said, cutting a small bite out of her dessert. “If there was something to tell us, he would have already told us. You know our Sammy doesn't keep secrets.”

_ God,  _ Sam thought as he looked at his mom who was staring at him with a serene smile on her face that was fooling exactly no one present.  _ Now I have to tell them.  _

Sure, he had already planned on telling them, but he had wanted to ease into it a little first. 

Sam exhaled deeply. “Actually,” he began, and then almost stopped when he saw his busybody sister lean forward in her seat, while his treacherous best friend appeared to be trying her best to hold back her amusement. 

“Steve and I broke up.”

“What?!” His mother and sister exclaimed almost in unison.

“Today?” His father asked, confused.

“No; it’s been a few days,” Sam responded vaguely. 

_ Ding dong the prick is dead,  _ Sarah thought and for a split second she had to resist the urge to cheer. That is, until something else occurred to her:

“Wait — y’all broke up a few days ago and you’re just now telling me?”

As happy as she was that his relationship with that asshole was over, she couldn’t believe Sam hadn’t told her about the breakup immediately. He always told her stuff like this before he would tell their parents… or so she thought. 

“Hush, Sarah,” Darlene scolded her daughter before turning to Sam. “What happened, honey? I know it was a while ago, but the last time we saw you two together everything seemed to be going well.”

“It was back then, mama.” Well, everything was certainly way better back then than it eventually became. __

“But I recently found out that Steve’s been keeping some pretty big secrets from me. Secrets that I just couldn’t get past. He wanted to work through it, but I didn’t think we could, so I called it quits.”

“Well, Samuel, we’re sorry to hear that,” his mother said, just as his father put down his fork and asked:

“What kind of secrets?” 

Sam knew the question was coming, but that didn’t mean he knew how to answer it. He had told Claire he wouldn’t lie, that he just wouldn’t give them all the details, but now that he was on the spot, he couldn’t think of any part of this crazy mess that was safe to tell them. The drugs, the illegal businesses, the stalking — Sam couldn’t think of any details that  _ weren’t _ gory.

He sighed again, feeling defeated, and opened his mouth to answer his father. However, Claire, who was starting to feel kind of bad about basically smirking a moment ago when the conversation started, and his parents did that whole shaming him into telling them the truth thing, decided to speak up first. 

“Steve’a not a widow,” she said softly. “He lied about being married.”

Every Wilson started talking at once, except Sam who was now shooting Claire a look that clearly said:  _ what are you doing? _

Claire didn’t shrug, but it was close. He had asked her to have his back, and that’s what she was doing. Now his family had a reason for the breakup. A reason that would cause some shock, clearly, but it was easily the least outrageous item on Steve’s list of crimes. 

_ You didn’t want to give them the gory details,  _ she thought, as Sam’s parents started to bombard him with questions.  _ Well this is about as non-gory as it gets.  _

“Is this true?” Darlene asked, turning wide eyes to Sam. 

“Yeah, mama. Turns out Peggy is just a girl he dated a while ago. She’s very much alive, and Steve’s never come close to being married to her or anyone else.”

“I knew it!” Sarah exclaimed, before she could stop herself, and shook her head. “I know widowers aren’t a monolith or anything, but  _ I knew  _ his ass didn’t act like any widower I’ve ever met.”

“And I know you’re not cussing at my dinner table.”

“Sorry, daddy,” she muttered distractedly, before turning her attention right back to Sam.

“How did you find out, Sammy? I know his lying a— self,” she caught herself, before she could swear again, “didn’t just come right out and tell you the truth.”

“No,” he said, looking pained. “One of his friends, Bucky — uhh James actually, told me.”

“One of his friends told you Steve was lying to you?” His mother asked, looking perplexed.

“Well, they’re not really friends anymore, but they used to be closer,” Sam explained, conveniently leaving out that they had only fallen out a couple of weeks ago and that he was the reason. 

“Anyway, James went out of his way to tell me what was going on.”  _ Eventually.  _ “And when I confronted Steve about it, he admitted it was true. He tried to apologize, but this isn’t something I can get over.”

“Of course not,” his mom said, sympathetically, while inside her head was spinning with this new information. 

Steve had always seemed like such a sweet person, and Darlene had been so happy that Sam found another partner who appeared to love him as fiercely as Riley did. It was hard to believe how wrong she’d been about the guy. 

“Who lies about being a widow?” Paul wanted to know. “I mean, didn’t you two meet in a support group — what was he even doing there?”

Sam shrugged. “Who knows? I’ve been trying to wrap my head around this whole thing for a couple of weeks now and I still can’t figure out what possessed Steve to do any of this,” Sam said, being a little more honest than he probably meant to be. 

Sarah frowned. “Any of—

“At least one of his friends has some decency,” Claire interrupted, purposely cutting Sarah off. “I mean, they all met you at that party a while back, and they all must’ve known Steve was lying to you, but James was the only one who stuck his neck out and told you the truth. Sounds like an okay guy,” she said, matter of factly, before concentrating on her cobbler. 

“He’s alright,” Sam said slowly, trying to hide how surprised he was by her words. “I’m just glad he told me what was going on. Now I can move on and forget Steve ever existed.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Paul mumbled under his breath, but only because Sam already looked extremely uncomfortable, like he’d literally rather be talking about anything else. 

Paul supposed they ought to give Sam a break. He was a good kid, and had always been pretty open and honest with both of his parents. So even though he was fairly certain that there was more to the story, especially if the not so subtle looks Claire and Sam had been trading all afternoon were any indication, Paul figured his son would tell them eventually. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, baby?” Darlene asked, voice full of concern. She knew her son was resilient and all, but he seemed to be taking this awfully well. 

“Keep in mind, mama, I’ve known for a little while now. I was pretty angry when I found out, and honestly I’m still really upset about the whole thing, but I took a few days off work and I’ve been seeing my therapist again.” He shrugged. “I wouldn’t say I’m okay, but I’m getting there.”

“Good,” she said, feeling slightly reassured.

“Yeah, great,” Sarah chimed in, but her voice sounded off and Sam didn’t trust the look on her face.

Then again, he might’ve been imagining things because he felt guilty about all the half-truths and no-truths he was telling his family. Sam was never that great at being deceptive.

However, he put on a smile and steered the conversation on to lighter subjects like the upcoming church fish fry and the museum visit Justin and Jody were currently attending with her play group. 

After a while he even began to relax again. But just as he was finishing his second piece of cobbler, Sarah spoke up and had his stomach taking another dive.

“We’ll clear the table, mama,” she volunteered. “Come on, Sam; I’ll wash, you can dry.”

“You two don’t have to do that,” Darlene said, but Sarah interrupted.

“I insist.”

_ I bet you do,  _ Sam thought, annoyed. His sister wasn’t slick. She hated doing the dishes; always had. He would bet cash money that the only reason she was volunteering now was so she could interrogate him in private. 

Still, he didn’t see how he could get out of it with any grace, so he joined her in gathering the dishes and then followed her into the kitchen.

“Alright,” Sarah finally spoke, once the sink was full of dishwater. “I get that you don’t want mama and daddy knowing all your business, but since when do we keep secrets?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Sam, don’t try to lie to me; you’re bad at it,” she said, and started scrubbing a plate like it had personally offended her. 

“I’m telling mama you said ‘lie’,” he sing-songed at her. 

“Fine. Then I’ll tell daddy that you just sat up here, on a Sunday no less, and told him a bald-faced  _ story  _ to his face,” she shot back.

They glared at each other for a minute, until Sarah sighed and tried to start over.

“Sam, the last time we discussed Steve, I mean  _ really  _ discussed Steve, I may have come off a bit heavy handed.”

_ A bit?  _ He thought, slightly incredulous, but he managed to keep a straight face. 

“And I’m sorry if that conversation made you feel like you can’t share stuff about him or anything else with me.”

“No, Sarah—

She looked kind of sad, so he tried to interrupt but she held up a hand to stop him. 

“But you can tell me anything, Sammy, even the bad stuff. You must know that, right?”

Of course he knew that. They were extremely close, even for siblings who were only a year apart. She had always been his biggest supporter and his staunchest defender.

Which was exactly why he didn’t want to tell her everything that had gone down. Sarah would either start taking off her earrings, call their cousins, and go over to Steve’s to try and start some shit. Or, she would call Misty and get Justin to call one of his coworkers at the firm, and she’d try her best to make sure Steve faced some sort of legal consequences, for one thing or another. Either way his sister would want to take some sort of action, and that was the last thing he wanted. Sam had no desire to even see Steve again, let alone battle him physically or in a courtroom.

However, he knew he couldn’t leave things the way they were, with Sarah thinking he wasn’t comfortable talking to her.

Sam sighed. “You promise you won’t tell anybody else,  _ and  _ that you won’t try to do anything about what I’m about to tell you?”

Sarah regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then asked, “Did he put his hands on you?”

“What? No!” He replied, adamantly. In his opinion, Steve grabbing his arm that night didn’t exactly count. 

“Okay, then I promise.”

******

Sam had given her the Reader’s Digest version, but one pile of washed dishes later and Sarah was steaming mad. Her hand was actually shaking when she handed him the last pan so he could dry it.

She had told Sam that Steve was a liar, and she herself had assumed the guy was involved in some sort of illegal activity, but this was too much. Everything Sam had shared with her was just so much worse than she had ever imagined. 

“I know I promised—”

“Sarah,” he tried to interrupt, but she kept speaking right over him.

“I know I promised, but doing nothing about this isn’t an option. A… a…” she didn’t even know what to call him, “a  _ gangster  _ is obsessed with you. Burying our heads in the sand and ignoring him isn’t going to solve anything.”

“Okay, first of all, I wouldn’t exactly say he was obsessed with me.” 

He couldn’t say that; just the thought of it made him ill.

“In fact, he hasn’t shown up at my place since I received the coffee table; if that was even him.”

She rolled her eyes and asked, more than a little sarcastically, “Who else would it have been?”

Okay, so he was 99% sure it was Steve, but still… __

“And I haven’t received any gifts or notes or anything from him in days,” he continued.

It was true. The deliveries had mysteriously stopped right around the time Bucky had shown up at his door claiming to be in love with him, which Sam highly doubted was a coincidence. He wasn’t about to go into all that with his sister though. Sam had taken great care to downplay Bucky’s role in things as much as possible. Their friendship or whatever they had was a conversation for another day. 

“So what? The man used to follow you and had other people follow you. He asked you to marry him, Sam. I don’t think he’s lost interest just because he managed to leave you alone for a few days.”

“Maybe not,” Sam conceded. “But as long as he stays away from me, I don’t really care whether he’s lost interest or not.” 

Not entirely accurate, but true enough. 

“And,” he continued. “I’m not burying my head in the sand. I changed my locks immediately and a couple of days ago I went ahead and had a security system installed. You heard me tell mama that I’m seeing my therapist again regularly, right?”

She nodded.

“Okay then. I’m taking my safety,  _ my health _ , both physical and mental very seriously,” he said, sounding slightly annoyed. “You may not agree with how I’m choosing to handle this situation and that’s fine, but please don’t accuse me of ignoring things because I’m not.”

She wanted to argue more. She wanted to force him to talk to the police and at least try to get a restraining order. More than anything, she wanted to ask him to come stay with her so she would know he was safe. 

However, Sarah knew she couldn’t do any of those things without possibly pushing him away — without maybe upsetting him to the point that he wouldn’t even bother telling her if something else were to happen with Steve — and she wasn’t willing to take that risk. 

So she bit her tongue, swallowed down the words she really wanted to say, and instead apologized. 

“I’m sorry, Sam. You’re right; this is your problem, and you’re handling it the way you think is best. I have no right to criticize that.”

“It’s okay,” he said, sending her a smile, before reaching over to give her a quick hug. “I know you’re just worried about me.”

_ Worried doesn’t even begin to cover it,  _ she thought, as she returned the hug. She was terrified. Apparently her brother had a stalker, or at least  _ used  _ to have a stalker; a stalker who was still walking around freely without a care in the world. So, yeah, she was definitely frightened for Sam. 

But she would follow his lead and do as he asked for the time being, and keep what he told her to herself. However, the moment Steve popped back up, the moment Sarah found out he had even so much as stepped one toe over the line again, she would do everything in her power to make sure he saw the inside of a jail cell. 

******

“See ya at work tomorrow,” Claire said, and went to open the door, but Sam stopped her with a hand on her elbow.

“Wait.”

He had wanted to ask her something the entire ride back to her place, but had kept his mouth shut, thinking it was probably best to leave well enough alone. 

He couldn’t help himself in the end though.

“Why’d you say all that about Bucky?”

“Come on, Sam.”

“No, seriously. You’ve made it clear that you don’t like the guy, and you don’t want me seeing him, but you went out of your way to make him sound like a saint to my family. How come?” 

“Why do you think?” She asked, rolling her eyes. “You like the guy. As much as you act like tonight isn’t going to be a date and that you don’t know what you two are to each other, it’s pretty obvious that you guys are gonna be together in the near future.”

“Maybe, but maybe not. I am still pretty angry with him.”

“Yeah I saw just how angry you were the other day when you let him kiss you,” she added, sarcastically. 

“Claire—

“Anyways,” she continued, “I just figured since your parents are bound to meet him one day, there’s no sense in them knowing he’s a lying criminal too.”

Well, she might have been being a brat about it, but Sam appreciated her actions nonetheless. Even though he wasn’t sure if his parents would ever actually meet Bucky or if he would ever even see Bucky again after tonight, he wanted there to at least be a chance for his family to like Bucky if they ever came in contact with him.

“Thanks, baby girl.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, and got out of the car.

But as she stood on the sidewalk, smiling at Sam and waving him off, she couldn’t help but wonder if she had done the right thing. Because the truth of the matter was, she didn’t like Bucky and didn’t believe that he was any better for Sam than Steve had been, but Lord did she hope she was wrong. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Feedback is appreciated!
> 
> Next up: Sam and Bucky hang out and talk, and Steve reaches his limit. 
> 
> Chapter Title: Whitney Houston


	18. Baby-Baby-Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Bucky hang out and talk, and Steve reaches his limit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy :)

Meeting for drinks usually implied going to a bar or restaurant, so when Bucky suggested they get together at his condo, Sam had initially balked at the idea. Bucky was smooth as hell in any setting, but the occasions when Sam had been at the guy’s home, Bucky had always managed to get him to stay just a little longer than he’d planned and loosen up just a little more than was probably appropriate. Frankly, Sam didn’t think going to his place at this point in their acquaintanceship, friendship, relationship, or whatever the hell he should label it, was a good idea. 

On the other hand, Sam had questions. The type of questions that were probably best asked in private. So, in the end he agreed, and wound up on Bucky’s doorstep at eight o’clock on the dot.

“Sam.” Bucky greeted him, with a huge smile on his face.

“Hey, man,” Sam said, voice purposely flat. No need for Bucky to know that just the sight of him had butterflies fluttering in Sam’s stomach. 

As soon as Bucky took in the serious expression on Sam’s face, he felt his enthusiasm begin to dim. However, the fact that Sam had bothered to show up at all, had him recovering pretty quickly.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Bucky said, honestly. “Please come in.”

Sam followed Bucky through the door, and he couldn’t help but notice how different this visit already was from the other times he had been to Bucky’s place. He felt off and tense as hell. Well, truthfully Bucky had made Sam feel off balance plenty of times before, but it was usually in a good way. 

This time however, part of Sam felt like turning around and walking right back out the door. He knew he wouldn’t do it though. Whatever reservations he may have had, there was no denying that another, perhaps more foolish, part of him was still happy to see Bucky. He had told Claire he was angry with the guy, and he was, but that didn’t mean he didn’t also have the most annoying urge to jump him. 

Sam was still very much conflicted when it came to how he felt about Bucky. He just hoped that the answers he was about to get would help ease some of his worries.

“So,” Bucky began, sounding a bit nervous. 

And when they passed the kitchen and the living room, Sam’s own unease started to go up a notch. 

_I thought we were having drinks?_

“I know when I suggested drinks, you probably thought it was kind of weird that I wanted to have them at my place,” Bucky continued, as they stopped in front of a closed door. “But, well, umm…” he trailed off and pushed the door open. “Surprise.”

Sam couldn’t stop an involuntary gasp from escaping his mouth, and it had some of Bucky’s nerves falling away, causing him to grab Sam by the hand and pull him into the room. 

All Sam could do was stare as he took in the sight in front of him: the dim lights; the jazz music playing on an old fashioned record player in the corner; the other corner that held what looked to be a shiny new portable bar counter that was at least five feet long and three and a half feet tall, if Sam had to hazard a guess; the intimate table for two that sat in the middle of the room. And, last but not least, the thing was truly knocking him out: a seemingly professional grade sign that was hanging from the ceiling proclaiming the room to be “Wilson’s Watering Hole.”

“Bucky, what— 

“Wait, sweetheart. You gotta see the best part,” Bucky interrupted, leading Sam over to the bar where he handed him a thin booklet. “Go ahead, flip through it.”

Dazed as he was, Sam did as he was told and browsed the mini menu, his eyebrows climbing higher with every turn of a page.

The outside of the booklet had the same words as the sign and in the same fancy font, and each page held the name and recipe for what Sam recognized to be pretty standard cocktails but with new Sam-centric names. Instead of a Moscow Mule there was a Harlem Horse, Sangria was Samgria, and so on and so on. 

It was corny and a little outrageous. And it was ridiculously thoughtful.

But it also had alarm bells going off in Sam’s head. 

The sign wasn’t some poster board that Bucky had stenciled block letters onto; it looked like he had ordered signage from a professional. The bar counter Sam was currently staring at was awfully reminiscent of one Sam once saw an advertisement for in a magazine at his barbershop, and if he was remembering right then its price tag was in the thousands. Then there was the menu of drink specials that had clearly taken some time, effort, and money to create. 

It was all fuckin’ with Sam just a little. Because, see, Steve used to do stuff like this when they had first started dating. Maybe not anything quite this detailed, but back in the beginning, before he started just throwing expensive gifts at Sam whenever he messed up, Steve had gone out of his way to create fun and original dates for Sam. Dates that had also reeked of excess spending — just like this one did. 

At the time, Sam thought Steve was just being sweet and romantic, now he felt like nothing about those dates had been genuine. They were just a piece of the intricate smokescreen Steve had been creating. 

So, yeah, Sam may have thought this set up was charming as hell, but it was also just a little too familiar. 

“Sammy, baby, what do you think?” Bucky asked, nerves creeping back into his voice in the face of Sam’s continued silence.

“I think we need to talk.”

Bucky’s face fell, and Sam instantly felt bad.

“Barnes, man,” Sam said, taking a step closer to him and grabbing his hand. “This is incredible. Seriously,” Sam’s gaze swept the room, “it’s awesome. I was expecting a couple of beers and maybe a dip into your wine cooler, not something straight out of a rom-com.” 

He laughed, before continuing, softly. “I love it, Bucky.” He gave Bucky’s hand a final squeeze before letting go. “And I’d love nothing more than to sit here and try every single one of these drinks and shoot the shit like we used to do _before_ , but we really need to have a serious talk.”

 _Well,_ Bucky thought, _that doesn’t sound good at all._

Sure, he knew that things weren’t even close to being settled between them, and despite what he had led Steve to believe the other day, he wasn’t the least bit positive that they would actually be together, but still… Bucky had been hoping that he and Sam could at least have one stress free evening together before they tackled more of the heavier stuff. Clearly that had been wishful thinking on his part.

“Okay,” Bucky said, taking a deep breath, and sitting down at the table. “What do we need to talk about?”

Sam had to bite his lip to keep from snorting, but he took a seat across from him.

 _What_ **_don’t_ ** _we need to talk about?_

“I had some stuff I wanted to ask you about, and I’ll get to that in a minute, but first I gotta know: why… why did you do all this?” He asked, looking around.

Bucky blinked, slightly taken aback by the question. “I just wanted to do something special for you. I wanted you to have a good time,” he said, earnestly. 

“And I appreciate that, Bucky. I do. But I don’t need all this,” he responded, gently. “I mean, I’m not trying to sound ungrateful or anything, but if we’re gonna be… friends or anything else, then we need to be straight with each other. If I wanted someone to drop a lot of cash to try and get in good with me, I could’ve just stayed with Steve,” he went on, bluntly, willing himself to ignore the insulted look on Bucky’s face. 

“That’s not what I’m trying to do!” Bucky cut in, even though he could admit to himself that Sam was at least partially right. Yeah, he had decorated the room because he wanted to do something special for Sam, but he would be lying if he said he hadn’t hoped that it would win him some points with Sam.

“Are you sure? Cause more than anything, Bucky, I want you to be honest with me.”

“Did I want to impress you? Do I want to make you happy and do nice stuff for you? Of course I do, Sam. I’m in love with you,” he said, passionately. “But I am _not_ trying to disarm you or distract you, okay? I have money, and I want to spend some of it showing you a good time. _But I’m not Steve._ I don’t want to buy your affection; I just want your affection. Period.”

Sam examined the other man for a long moment. Bucky was telling the truth, or at least he appeared to be. His gaze was so earnest and open; it was clear he desperately wanted Sam to believe him. 

And maybe Sam had been a shitty judge of character in the past with both Steve and Bucky, but he couldn’t deny that his gut was telling him to trust Bucky now.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Bucky blinked.

“Okay; I believe you.” 

“Okay,” Bucky repeated, this time grinning like an idiot. “So… you’ll try one of your cocktails now?”

“Why not?” He agreed, his lips quirking wryly. “We’ll probably both need a drink for this next part.”

Bucky chose to ignore that ominous statement.

“So,” he said, standing. “Anything in particular you want to try?”

“Surprise me, barkeep,” Sam said, smiling slightly.

It was Bucky’s turn to snicker that time, but he swaggered to the bar and started popping bottles, shaking this and stirring that, and in no time he was back at the table holding two of the largest cocktails Sam had ever seen.

Sam cocked an eyebrow; he couldn’t tell which one of the drinks Bucky had just sat in front of him. But he grabbed it and took a tentative sip, Bucky eyeballing him the whole time.

“Damn, Barnes.” He took another, larger sip. “Now this is a tasty beverage,” he joked.

“God, you’re so lame.” 

_And adorable,_ Bucky thought with a sigh, before taking a sip of his own and internally bracing himself as he looked at Sam expectantly. 

“So… what else did you want to discuss?”

“That night at my apartment when you were telling me about Steve, you said you’d be glad to give me a ‘laundry list’ of all of your crimes later if I wanted you too. Well… it’s later, and I think I kinda want you to.”

“Wait — what?”

Bucky didn’t know what he was expecting, but that wasn’t it. 

“You say you’re in love with me…”

“I am!”

“And you want to be with me…”

“I do,” Bucky said, adamantly.

“Well, before I can think about that, before I can even consider spending more time with you, I need to know what I’m getting into.”

Bucky frowned. “I was serious when I said I’m leaving all that stuff behind. I’ve already told Steve that I’m done with him and the dope,” he explained. “And I’ve started the process of transferring my ownership of the bar and the shop to Natasha.”

Sam didn’t let his shock show on his face, but he was definitely surprised by how quickly Bucky was moving. And touched.

“That’s great,” he said, giving Bucky a quick smile. “Although, I hope you’re doing that for yourself too, and not for me. There’s no guarantee we’re gonna be together, Bucky.”

“I know that,” Bucky replied quickly. “But, like I told you the other day, I want us to have a chance and I’m going to do anything in my power to make sure we get one.”

“Okay,” Sam drawled. 

He was never really sure how to respond to Bucky’s intensity, especially when his heart betrayed him by skipping a beat whenever Bucky said something like that.

“Anyway,” Sam went on, trying to get a hold of his treacherous feelings. “I believe that you’re getting out of the game, but there’s just some stuff I would not be able to get past.” He sighed. “I guess what I’m saying is, I don’t want to wake up a year from now, head over heels in love with you, and then find out that you’re not who I think you are.”

“Sam, I—

Bucky tried to respond, but Sam wasn’t quite finished.

“Steve told me about the card game and the weed to distract me and keep me in the dark about all the other stuff he was doing, because he didn’t think I would be cool with it, and he was right. He still should’ve told me everything from jump though. I want — no, I _need_ — to have all the information before this goes any further. I need to be able to make an informed decision.”

“I meant what I said, sweetheart. Anything you want to know, I’ll tell you,” Bucky swore, leaning forward in his seat. “You wanna know about the time I stole some candy from the bodega on Church Ave., then I’ll tell you. You wanna know the name of every guy I chased down for Bam, then I’ll give you all the ones I remember. Tell me what you want to know, baby.”

God, Bucky sounded so solemn and heartfelt that Sam kind of felt bad even questioning him further, but he needed to know. He could already tell that Bucky had the power to turn his head and have his nose wide open to the point that he’d just forget all his concerns, but he couldn’t let that happen. Not if Bucky was some kind of irredeemable monster deep down.

“I don’t care about the small stuff,” Sam explained. “And if you say you’re done with the drugs and the chop shop and everything else that went along with it, then I can work with that. Everybody has a past, Bucky. I don’t want to hold yours against you.” 

“But…” Bucky prompted, knowing Sam hadn’t brought all this up just to leave it like that.

“But,” Sam paused, he wasn’t even sure how to phrase what he really wanted to know. 

Had Bucky done anything truly awful, truly _evil_ ? Had Bucky ever done the type of stuff that a person couldn’t come back from? _That’s_ what Sam needed to know, he just didn’t know how to ask. 

“I’m not even...” Sam paused and cleared his throat and tried to begin again. “I’m not sure—”

“Sam, relax,” Bucky said, taking pity on the other man as he scooted his chair closer than Sam was strictly comfortable with. “You can ask me whatever.” He forced a grin. “It’s not gonna offend me or anything, sweetheart.”

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” Sam blurted out quickly.

And, yeah, okay, that was not at all what he had intended to say. But, on the other hand, it was kind of exactly what he wanted to know. 

Bucky blinked, and for a split second Sam got the distinct feeling that he wanted to laugh at him. 

Sam wasn’t completely wrong either. It wasn’t that Bucky thought the inquiry was funny, but Sam was just so cute, biting his lip nervously and looking up at Bucky through his ridiculously long eyelashes, while he asked him a wild ass question but in the most earnest tone ever. Bucky could barely stop the sudden amusement that tried to take over his face. 

He didn’t smile though; he wouldn’t do that to Sam. The guy had asked a serious (and oddly endearing) question, and he would give him a serious answer. Hell, for a chance at having Sam Wilson belong to him and him alone, Bucky was ready to confess all his sins like he was sitting in the reconciliation room at St. Andrew’s a week before Easter. 

The only thing was: what was the worst thing he’d ever done? Honestly, as he sorted through the memories in his head, it was all pretty awful. Bucky supposed he go into detail about all the regular people who eventually became stings and had their lives ruined because of the drugs he provided. Or he could tell Sam about just how many wounds he’d inflicted and the few bodies he’d dropped when he was carving out a place in the old neighborhood for him and his crew. 

However, Sam wasn’t an idiot. When he found out that their operation generated enough money to explain away a couple of businesses and fund their lifestyles, Bucky figured that Sam must have assumed that he and Steve didn’t get to where they were without a lot of violence. So, Bucky guessed that Sam was looking for another kind of answer. The stuff that Bucky tucked away in the back of his mind. The type of stuff that he actually felt bad about and probably always would.

“Bucky,” Sam said, breaking him out of his thoughts. He was sure the concern was clear on his face, but he couldn’t help it. For a minute, it seemed as though Bucky had completely zoned out. 

“Is everything—-

“It’s you, Sam,” Bucky interrupted, softly.

“Huh?”

“How I’ve treated you,” he sighed, “more specifically, how I was planning on treating you — that’s the worst thing I’ve done.”

Sam fought the urge to cross his arms over his chest in annoyance. He wasn’t looking for a cop-out answer. 

“Yeah, you kept Steve’s secrets and lied to me for way too long, but—

“No.” He cut in again, this time shaking his head. “You don’t get it. Everything Steve did to you, I was basically planning to do too.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed curiously, even as he leaned back in his chair, away from Bucky. 

“What?”

“That first night that we met, when you left the bar…”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I just liked you so much. We had a connection, sweetheart; even way back then I could feel it.”

Sam could admit to himself that he had felt it too, but still… he did not like where this was going. 

“The second you walked out the door, I knew I had to see you again,” he continued. “I had your first and last name, and that was enough. Ten seconds before I found out who you were, I was…” he gave a harsh laugh. “I was laughing, telling Natasha that I didn’t care if you were dating somebody that I was going to make you mine anyway. That I was going to use whatever resources we had to find you, and I would’ve done it too,” he admitted, sounding ashamed. 

“I would’ve found you. I would’ve found a way to bump into you and make it look like a lucky fluke. I like to think that I wouldn’t have gone so far as to have you followed and do a background check,” he shrugged, “but who knows? Maybe I would have.”

“Christ, Bucky,” Sam said, the disgust plain on his face. 

_Claire was right: I’m going right out of the frying pan and into the fire,_ Sam thought. 

Except… Steve would have never admitted this to him, especially since this wasn’t information Sam had a realistic chance of learning on his own. Bucky was telling Sam all this even though he knew that there was a very real possibility that Sam would walk out the door and never speak to him again. 

_Maybe that has to count for something..._

“I know,” Bucky said, sounding downright miserable. “I know, baby. I’m not — I am really _not_ a good guy. I’m so used to taking what I want, we all are; it never even occurred to me how messed up it was, ‘til Steve was telling me he actually did do all that and more to get you.”

“And then, the more time I spent with you, the more fucked up I knew it was. You’re so good and just plain _decent_ , Sammy; I hated what he was doing to you. I hated having to keep it a secret. But most of all, I hated myself and felt like the worst sort of hypocrite because I had seriously thought about doing those same things.”

Suddenly, Bucky leaned forward and clutched Sam’s hand. Lord knows why, but Sam let him and didn’t pull away. 

“But I want to be better,” he swore. “I _am_ better. Just knowing you has made me better. There are people I’ve hurt and _worse_ , and there’s stuff I’ve done that I don’t even necessarily regret doing because I had to do it, but I’d never do it again now. And not just cause I’m trying to impress you, but because I see how fucked up it is.”

Bucky’s eyes were wet and he certainly looked (and sounded) like he was telling the truth, and Sam believed him, but still… it was a lot to look past.

Then again, as fresh as this latest bit of information was, Sam could already tell that, deep down, knowing it didn’t fundamentally change how he felt about Bucky… and that scared the hell out of him. He was willing to overlook so much when it came to the man in front of him — way more than he ever would’ve thought he’d be able to — and it was truly knocking him out, because other than his immediate family, there had only ever been two other people he was willing to give this kind of leeway to.

And he had been in love with both of them. 

No, he didn’t currently feel that way about Bucky, not even close, but damned if he didn’t get the feeling it was headed that way.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky whispered, his voice intruding on Sam’s thoughts, his face an open book. 

He looked scared shitless, like he was just waiting for Sam to disappear forever, and Sam’s own heart ached to see the expression on Bucky’s face. And, really, the fact that he was having such a strong reaction to Bucky’s distress was answer enough. 

“Clean slate,” Sam finally responded.

“Huh?” Bucky asked, eyes narrowing in confusion.

“I’m giving you a clean slate, Barnes,” Sam explained, as he pulled his hand away. If Sam was going to get this out, he didn’t want to be clutching Bucky’s hand while he did it. He needed Bucky entirely focused on what he was about to say. 

“You swear you’re out of a life of crime, and that you’re never gonna try to manipulate me or lie to me again...”

“I promise, Sam. Cross my heart and hope to die,” he vowed, and even drew a cross over his chest with his index finger.

“Then I’m willing to start over; we can start from today. But if I ever find out you’ve lied to me, about anything — if I ever ask you a question and think you’re giving me some bullshit answer — we will be done.”

“Of course,” Bucky said, nodding along, even though he almost couldn’t believe his luck.

“Seriously, James,” Sam said, looking more solemn than Bucky had ever seen him. “I mean, if you can’t tell me something because you just can’t, then say that, but don’t lie to me. I won’t be lied to or tricked anymore, by anyone.”

“Swear to God, Sammy. I’m lapsed, I ain’t been to mass in years. Hell, I might burst into flames if I ever stepped into a church again,” he half-joked, a trembling smile on his face. “But I still believe, and _I swear to God_ that I won’t lie to you.”

“Okay.” Sam nodded, and took a giant gulp of his still ridiculously strong drink (talking long enough to let the ice melt hadn’t really helped at all). “Okay, good.”

“So,” Bucky said, after a moment; he knew he was about to push his luck, but he was so damn happy he just didn’t care. “When you said ‘we’d be done,’ did you mean us being acquaintances or friends, or...” He trailed off and waggled his eyebrows.

Annnddd there he was. There was the ridiculously flirty Bucky Barnes, Sam had grown so used to. He certainly already seemed to be running with the whole “clean slate” thing, so Sam rolled his eyes, turned off that one niggling part of his brain that was still screaming at him to abort, and decided to join him. 

“I guess friends.” He shrugged. “I mean,” he looked down and then glanced up at Bucky coyly, “until you’ve asked me out on a date—“

“Will you go on a date with me, doll?” Bucky cut in eagerly. 

“Maybe,” Sam drawled, smiling shyly, but they both knew he meant _yes._

Sam wasn’t an idiot; he knew jumping into something with anyone, especially Bucky, so soon after everything that had happened with Steve wasn’t the healthiest decision. He knew he was taking a hell of a chance. 

_A chance that’s probably either gonna make me incredibly happy in the long run, or more miserable than I’ve ever been._

But he was taking this shot at happiness anyway. And, nervous stomach or not, he was kind of (very) excited about it. 

******

One Jet Pilot and half of a Samgria overflowing with fresh fruit later, and Sam and Bucky had worked their way into the living room. They were sitting on the couch, about an inch apart from each other, trading stories back and forth, just like they used to. 

“Okay,” Bucky said, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. “What’s the worst date you’ve ever been on?”

Sam took a sip of his drink, and snorted. “Tryin’ to figure out what not to do if we go out, eh Barnes?”

Bucky grinned unashamedly. “Maybe.”

Sam’s eyes started to roll, but he felt his lips quirking up. He had missed this, he’d missed bullshitting around with Bucky.

“Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine,” he shot back, coyly. 

And now Bucky was starting to feel like the world’s biggest idiot. How could he not have seen Sam asking him the question back coming? Bucky knew immediately what was his worst date, if you could even call it a date, but it wasn’t really the type of story people went around sharing. Then again, he did promise to always tell Sam the truth… 

“Okay,” Bucky said, nervously rubbing a hand through his hair. “So, when I was like nineteen, I was messing around with this guy, Loki—“

“Loki?”

“The whole neighborhood called him that, and I’m sure you can guess why,” Bucky said, laughing. “Come to think of it, I’m not even sure what his real name was. But anyway, he was cute… in a weird way. We didn’t hang out often, but we usually linked up whenever one of us needed to blow off some steam.”

“So, anyway, one night he called me and told me to come over around eleven, and I agreed, but then I got caught up in a dice game with some of my friends. He called me a couple more times, but I was kinda on a winning streak so I ignored him. Then, before I knew it, it was damn near one in the morning, so we all counted up our money and got out of there.”

“Well, I had a pocket full of cash and a stomach full of whiskey, and I was feeling pretty good, so I headed on over to Loki’s not even thinking about how he might feel about my tardiness.”

Sam snorted. “I know your ass got cussed out.”

“Sweetheart, that ain’t the half of it,” Bucky said, laughing along with him. “Soon as Loki let me in the door, he flipped out. He was cursing and throwing shit, and then he pulled out this weird looking dagger he was always carrying around.”

“Jesus,” Sam said, no longer laughing.

“It’s okay, man. Loki was always a little crazy, that was part of his charm.”

 _Yikes,_ Sam thought to himself, as he took another sip of his drink, but all that came out of his mouth was, “Right, okay.”

“So, he starts coming at me, but he’s taking these wide ass swipes. Loki was precise with that knife — everyone knew it. It was obvious he was just pissed and trying to scare me. But, I figured I ought to get out of there anyway, so I started backing towards the door. Just as I got my hand on the knob, he took a couple of steps towards me and tripped.”

“Without even thinking about it, I went to catch him, and when I did he accidentally, at least I’m pretty sure it was an accident, somehow slashed my stomach with his knife.”

“Oh my God!”

“That’s what he said,” Bucky replied, grinning again. “I was wearing the thinnest whitest t-shirt in the world, so the blood was clear as day and it looked freakin’ awful — way worse than it actually was. I was still a little drunk and he was probably high though, so we were both freaking out. He was apologizing like crazy and trying to help, but by then I just wanted to get away from him, so I stumbled out the door, and drove myself to the ER.”

“Okay, okay. Barnes you definitely win. I don’t have any stories that can compete with _that_ ,” Sam said, sounding sort of dazed.

“Wait — I didn’t even tell you the best part. When I got to the hospital, there was a cop there taking a report for something else I guess, and when he finished with whoever he was there to talk to, he came over and asked me what happened. I’m no snitch, and besides I didn’t want to get Loki in trouble, so I made some shit up and said I got jumped by two White dudes wearing white shirts and blue jeans in the park.”

“Sammy, I swear I gave the most generic description I could come up with,” he continued, still sounding like he couldn’t believe what he was saying. “But damned if this cop didn’t walk in my room five minutes before I was supposed to be discharged and say that a couple of suspects were in custody and he wanted to show me a photo array.”

“No,” Sam said, choking on his drink a little. 

“Yup,” Bucky replied, nodding. “So, what could I do,” he gestured helplessly, “I glanced at the pictures, told him that I didn’t recognize anybody, and then got the hell out of there.” 

Sam shook his head, but Bucky could tell he was a little amused even if he didn’t want to be. 

“You know, if almost anyone else was telling me this, I wouldn’t believe them.”

“You want proof?” Bucky asked, closing the already small space between them, and then lifted up his shirt. “See? I still have the scar to this day.”

He definitely did, but Sam was far more interested in Bucky’s ridiculously defined abs than he was in some old scar. Seriously, he knew Bucky was hot, and all the clothes in the world couldn’t mask the fact that the guy had a nice body, but his abs were truly a work of art. 

Almost against his will, Sam reached out and brushed his fingers across the hard plain of Bucky’s stomach.

And then snatched his hand back.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, clearly mortified at his actions. 

Bucky wasn’t sorry at all though. Sam’s touch, brief though it may have been, had gone straight to his dick. Sam Wilson was addictive, plain and simple. And now that Bucky knew touching was on the table, he felt comfortable making his own move.

“I’m not,” Bucky said, grabbing Sam’s hand and lacing their fingers together. Then he leaned in, cupped Sam’s face with his other hand, and slowly placed a kiss upon his lips. 

It started softly, just a tentative touch to see if the move would be reciprocated… and it was. 

Sam didn’t know if it was the liquor helping to loosen his inhibitions, or if it was simply because Bucky was hot as fuck and Sam had been wanting to do this for longer than he cared to admit, but he practically melted into Bucky’s touch. 

Bucky’s hands moved to Sam’s back and gently pulled the other man until Sam was basically laying against him, all the while deepening the kiss.

Sam couldn’t help but moan at the delicious slide of Bucky’s tongue against his own, and when he did Bucky took it as his cue to let his hands drift even lower and finally get a handful of the ass he’d been wanting to touch since the moment he’d met Sam. It felt every bit as amazing as he had always imagined it would.

“You feel so damn good, baby,” Bucky stuttered out, ceasing his kissing just long enough to take a breath, and then he started placing wet kisses on Sam’s neck.

Sam wasn’t proud of the incoherent sound that left his mouth the moment Bucky’s tongue made its way to his pulse point, but that didn’t stop him from sliding his hands under the other man’s shirt and exploring his abs like he’d wanted to earlier.

“You feel pretty good yourself,” Sam replied coyly, right before Bucky’s lips drifted back to his own.

And then they didn’t talk again for a very long time.

******

Steve may have been wasted, but he was lucid enough to know he shouldn’t be there. For his own sanity, for his own peace of mind, he should have been anywhere else on the planet. 

He just couldn’t help himself though. Ever since Bucky had thrown down the gauntlet the other day, Steve had spent every night doing pretty much the same thing: drinking at least half a bottle of his favorite whiskey and then cruising by Sam’s apartment and Bucky’s condo looking for the other’s car to prove what Bucky said was true. Because Steve just couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Bucky and Sam were together now. 

And after days of seeing nothing, Steve had almost convinced himself that Bucky had been lying or at least exaggerating. It wasn’t hard; Sam Wilson willingly “making a go of it” with a drug dealer, even a retired one, was so far out of the realm of possibility, that Steve just knew Bucky had been lying just to fuck with him.

 _He may want him, but he’ll never have him,_ was a thought that had passed through Steve’s head more than a few times… a thought that had given him more than a little comfort. 

Ironically, it was what he was thinking when he was making his now standard sweep of Bucky’s street as he made his way home from Sarah’s Place, and saw Sam’s Impala parked right in front of Bucky’s condo.

He almost couldn’t believe his eyes, but it was Sam’s car alright; sitting in front of Bucky’s place as if it had a right to be, as if it belonged there. 

Steve’s car idled in the middle of the street. He didn’t want to see this, but it was like he couldn’t bring himself to leave. His hands were shaking, face hot, breath coming out in short bursts, eyes suddenly burning from suppressed tears. If he was focused enough to put a name to it, he might’ve called it a panic attack. 

Or, maybe not. Because right at the center of it all, the one feeling he was experiencing more than anything else, was white hot anger. Not even when his mother died had he felt this level of shittiness. At least his Ma had been sick for a long time. At least he’d had years to reconcile himself to the fact that she was going to pass away sooner than anyone her age had a right to. But this — his best friend betraying him — his _boyfriend_ betraying him, Steve wasn’t able to accept this at all.

He didn’t _want_ to accept it. All he wanted was to punish. 

Payback, revenge, all the ideas he’d come up with — those things weren’t enough. He needed Bucky out of Sam’s life permanently. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Feedback is always appreciated!
> 
> Chapter Title: TLC


	19. None of Ur Friends Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos!

Sam almost couldn’t believe how nervous he was. Bucky was set to arrive to pick him up for their first official date soon and Sam was pacing back and forth in front of his front door like he was waiting on a blind date — not someone who he had already spent a significant amount of time with.

He couldn’t help the butterflies in his stomach though. This was it, he couldn’t bullshit around anymore or stay safely in denial like he had all the other times they had hung out, this was a date. And yeah, the make-out session they had the previous weekend had pretty much cemented the change in their relationship, but there would truly be no going back after tonight.

Which is why Sam’s stomach took another dip, an excited dip, but a dip nonetheless, the second he heard knocking at his door. However, when he opened his door and saw his sister and Claire standing there, all dressed up and grinning at him, his excitement was quickly replaced with distress.

“What are you two doing here?” He asked, as they brushed past him and into his apartment.

“We came to kidnap you and take you out,” Sarah said.

“But first we’re gonna get you drunk,” Claire added, laughing as she pulled a bottle of Grey Goose out of that suitcase she called a purse.

“That sounds fun,” Sam said, and under normal circumstances he would’ve been telling the truth. They hadn’t done that sort of thing in a while, but he always had a good time clubbing with his sister and their friends. 

“Wait,” Sarah said, narrowing her eyes at him. “Your voice is doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“And you have on your special jeans,” Claire chimed in, tilting her head and taking in his outfit. _And that grey shirt that makes it look like you spend all your free time at that gym,_ she silently added, figuring it was probably better to keep that bit to herself.

“One: my voice doesn’t do a thing.”

Lie. His voice definitely did a thing sometimes when he was stretching the truth, and his sister was almost as good as their mother at picking up on it.

“And two: I’m a grown ass man; I don’t have “special” jeans. All my jeans are just regular jeans.”

Which was another lie because he was totally wearing the same jeans he had worn the first time he went to Bucky’s condo, and if they hadn’t been special before, they certainly were after Bucky had practically drooled over him the first time he saw Sam in them.

Claire scoffed. “Boy, you even have special sweats”— which is frankly what they expected to find him wearing—“so I don’t know who you think you’re kidding.”

“What’s going on, Sammy?” Sarah asked softly.

“I kinda already have plans,” he said, and tossed Claire a meaningful look. 

_Oh,_ Claire thought, putting two and two together. Sam had been pretty hush hush all week about how things had gone with Bucky, but there had also been an extra skip in his step at work, so she’d assumed things had gone okay. But given his obvious date outfit and suspect behavior, things had clearly gone far better than okay. 

“But we can all do something next weekend,” Sam continued. “I’m off next Saturday too.”

“That sounds good,” Claire agreed readily. 

She wasn’t sure if Bucky was due to drop in at any moment, or if Sam was meeting him someplace, or what exactly was going on. It was pretty clear that Sam was trying to get them out of there though, so she figured she better help him out.

“We can still go to Cloud Nine, Sar. Let’s head on over there before the guy at the door starts trying to upcharge.”

Sarah had to resist the urge to roll her eyes at both of them. They weren’t being subtle at all.

“We can still go.” She shrugged, expression deceptively nonchalant. “But first I want to know what Sam’s gonna be up to tonight?”

Sam glanced at his watch and sighed. Bucky was supposed to arrive at any minute, and it wasn’t like Sam didn’t want Bucky to meet his sister; he definitely wanted them to get to know one another… eventually. But not right now. Not when this thing between them was so new and undefined, and definitely not when Sarah was still probably reeling from finding out just how awful the last guy he was dating had been.

Nope. Better to just tell Sarah that he had a date and get her out of there before Bucky showed up. 

“I have a date alright.”

Sarah blinked in surprise. After Riley passed away, Sam hadn’t dated for a long time, which is part of the reason she had been so welcoming to Steve when he first appeared; it had been nice to see her brother getting back out there. And, while Steve hadn’t died (unfortunately), he had definitely done quite the number on Sam, to put it mildly. Sarah had assumed that her brother would be taking another long break from dating. 

So this was kind of throwing her for a loop. Especially since he and Steve had _just_ broken up. _When did he even have time to meet anyone new?_

“A date with who?” She asked, confused.

“James,” he replied, trying to keep his voice light and even.

“Okay,” she drawled, before asking, “And who is James?”

Sam sighed again and started to answer, but then Sarah held up a hand suddenly. She had that look on her face — the same look she had the other day when she drafted him for dish duty — so Sam already knew what was coming.

“Wait! I know, _I just know,_ you’re not seriously about to start dating one of Steve’s friends.”

“Sarah,” Claire tried to cut in, even though Sarah was pretty much saying what she was thinking herself, but Sam was already speaking up.

“They’re not even friends anymore.”

Sarah rolled her eyes, and it was obvious she was about to respond, but a knock sounded at the door before she could.

“That’s him,” Sam whispered, glancing at the door. “We’ll talk about this later, okay? I promise,” he swore. “But right now I want you,” his gaze swiveled between his sister and Claire, “ _both_ of you, to play nice; got it?”

“I’m always nice.” “Boy, go answer the door.” They answered simultaneously, and Sam had to resist the urge to sigh yet again. Instead, he just shook his head and walked towards the door.

“Barnes,” he greeted, working up a smile for the other man when he saw him standing on the other side of the door. 

It wasn’t hard. Bucky looked good. He was wearing dark jeans and a long sleeved black sweater. It was about as simple as an outfit could get, but like he usually did, Bucky somehow managed to look like he’d just stepped off of some runway.

“Wilson,” Bucky said, smiling back at him, as he stepped inside. “I see you wore my favorite jeans,” he added, as his gaze raked over Sam’s body hungrily.

“Man, shut up,” Sam responded, but he could feel his cheeks getting hot.

“Make me,” Bucky shot back.

They were drifting into each other’s space. Bucky’s gaze was virtually hypnotic, and for a split second Sam almost took him up on his dare. He was leaning in right when he heard someone clear their throat… loudly.

Almost immediately, Sam moved back a step, his lips twisting into a grimace.

“Yeah, so, I’m just gonna go ahead and apologize in advance.”

“Okaaayy,” Bucky said, clearly perplexed, but he still followed dutifully behind Sam when the other man began to head into the living room.

As soon as he got into the room though, it all started to come together. Claire was there, and Bucky already knew she wasn’t his biggest fan. They’d only seen each other twice, and one of those times she had tried to slam the door in his face. _Great._

He may have never actually met her before, but Bucky had seen enough pictures to know the other woman was Sam’s sister. 

Both ladies were dressed up. They looked beautiful. They looked classy. But more to the point, they looked the opposite of happy to see him. Claire appeared as unimpressed as ever, but Sarah was giving him the sort of appraising look that made him want to both beg her forgiveness and confess all his sins — anything to earn her good graces. 

Instead, Bucky sucked it up, put on his most charming smile, and said, “Nice to see you again, Claire.”

Claire merely mumbled noncommittally in response, but she did manage to smirk and nod at him. Bucky didn’t care how small it was, he would take it as a win.

“And you must be Sarah,” he said, turning the full force of his smile on her. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

“Are you a gangster too?” She asked, instead of responding in kind, and Sam was outdone.

True, he hadn’t expected her to welcome Bucky with open arms, but his sister was one of the friendliest people he knew. It was wild to see her be snippy to someone she had never met before, even if he knew it was because she had a protective streak a mild wide when it came to him.

Bucky, in a move that belied the fact that he had any chill whatsoever, slid Sam a nervous look; he wasn’t sure what, if anything, was a secret from Sam’s family. So, he gave the safest answer he could.

“I’m retired.”

“Right,” she scoffed. “Well, as long as you keep your psycho friend away from my brother, I guess I don’t give too much of a damn what you do.”

“Sarah!”

“What?” She snapped back. “If you’re gonna date the riffraff then I at least want to make sure he can keep you safe from the other riffraff.”

Claire snorted, and, oddly enough, Bucky was starting to look kind of amused himself, but Sam was bordering on outraged.

“Sarah, you’re being rude to my guest, and it ain’t cute.”

That was true enough, and she knew she’d likely feel bad about it later, but for now she was in protective big sister mode and she didn’t really care who she was offending.

“James doesn’t care; do you James?” She asked, challengingly.

“Nope,” he responded gamely. 

Bucky was prepared to walk over hot coals for Sam. He wasn’t about to shy away from a little interrogation from Sam’s beautiful (and slightly intimidating) sister. Besides, she didn’t seem to be asking for any assurances he wasn’t more than willing to provide. He would keep Sam safe from any and everything. 

“Well, I care enough for the both of us,” Sam gritted out. 

Frankly, he wasn’t sure if he was more embarrassed or angry, but either way he was about ready to snap. And maybe Bucky could read it on his face, because he quickly cut in before Sam could say more.

“Your sister’s just worried about you, baby, and she has every right to be.” He sighed and stared Sarah in the eyes. “Cards on the table: I’m no angel. I mean, I’ve definitely done some bad shit,” he admitted, and then reached out and grabbed Sam’s hands. “But I’m in love with your brother.”

“Here we go,” he thought he heard Claire mutter under her breath, and he definitely saw Sarah blink in surprise, but he kept going anyway. 

“And he’s such a sweetheart that he’s decided to give me a chance.” He took a deep breath. “I sure hope you can too.”

Sarah was a little shocked and grudgingly impressed by his boldness, even if she’d never admit it. And since he obviously wasn’t a fan of mincing words either, she would finish telling him exactly what he needed to hear. 

“Be good to him. Keep him safe and keep that weirdo away from him, and you and I won’t have any problems.”

“Nothing I wasn’t planning on doing anyway,” Bucky said, nodding at her.

“Oh my God,” Sam cut in, looking at both of them crosseyed. “You two done, or do you want to go ahead and negotiate a dowry too?”

His sister rolled her eyes. “Sammy—

“Nope,” he interrupted her, as he reached over and grabbed his keys off the mantle. “That’s enough awkward family drama for tonight. Bucky, let’s go,” he said to the other man, before turning towards his uninvited guests. “You two can let yourselves out and lock up when you leave,” he told them, and then dragged his date out the door.

“Sam,” Bucky began, sounding anxious as they made their way down the steps. He really hoped he hadn’t crossed the line before their night had even really begun. “I’m really—”

“Uhh uhh,” Sam broke in. “We can talk about my nosy family and your apparent penchant for public love confessions later,” he said, sliding Bucky a look. “But right now I’d like to talk about anything else. Like, are you ready to tell me yet where we’re going?”

“Nope,” Bucky replied. He was fine with moving on from that uncomfortable chat if Sam was. 

“But, speaking of our destination,” he continued, as they made it to the building’s exit and he pushed the door open for Sam. “Parking is kinda spotty in the area, so I hope you don’t mind that I ordered a ride.”

Sam started to reply that he didn’t mind at all, but as soon as he stepped outside his original response caught in his throat and he gasped.

“You ordered a limo,” he corrected, blinking at the stretch Lincoln in front of him. “For our first date, you got us a limousine?”

Sam wondered if he sounded as incredulous as he felt. He’d been in a limo all of three times in his life: when he was eight and was the ring bearer in his uncle’s wedding, the night of his senior prom, and the day he got married. So, Bucky was just going to have to excuse him for being a little surprised.

“Yup,” Bucky answered, grinning as the chauffeur came around to open the rear passenger door. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re a spendthrift,” Sam joked. 

Bucky laughed. “Yeah, well, wait ‘til you see the inside,” he said, then grabbed Sam by the hand and pulled him into the car.

The back of the limo was spacious enough for at least six grown men, but from the way Bucky immediately pressed himself against Sam’s side and draped his right arm around Sam’s shoulders, their ride might as well have been the size of a Pinto.

“You comfortable?” Sam asked, sarcastically, but his cheeky tone only made Bucky wink.

“Very.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

“I mean, I can scoot over if you want me to...” he trailed off, and leaned away as if he was going to move over, but Sam grabbed his shirt and held him in place. 

“I wasn’t complaining, smartass.”

“Well, in that case,” Bucky said, and lowered his arm so that it was around Sam’s waist. “I guess I’ll stay.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but sunk into Bucky’s side a little more just the same, all the while wearing a tiny grin on his face. It was nice to have the playfully flirty Bucky — the Bucky from before everything had happened — back and in full effect. 

They went back and forth like that, joking around and shooting the shit, until Sam happened to glance out the window and noticed what part of town they were in.

“Wait a minute, are you taking me to the game?” He asked, excitedly. 

Bucky reached in the compartment on his side of the seat, pulled out a couple of tickets, and handed them to Sam.

“Surprise. I mean, I know you’re more of a football fan, but all I ever hear in the background when we’ve talked on the phone is ESPN, plus you mentioned once that you’ve never been to the new stadium, so I thought you might enjoy this too.”

“I’m a New Yorker, born and raised, of course I’ll enjoy a Yankees game. Twenty-seven rings, baby.”

He was laughing, but it slowly came to a halt as he took a closer look at the tickets. Bucky could almost feel Sam zeroing in on the section. 

“Bucky—”

“Listen, I know, okay?” Bucky cut in, earnestly. “I know it’s a lot. And I promise I was listening last weekend when you said that you didn’t need somebody dropping a lot of cash on you, and I swear to God, on our next date we can get ice cream and go to the dollar theater or something, but this is our first _real_ date. I want it to be special. You deserve for it to be special. You deserve everything.”

Bucky had sounded so serious, so _sincere,_ that Sam actually felt a little dazed and had to take a second to pull himself together before he replied.

“That was some speech,” Sam said, wryly. “But can I finish what I was gonna say now?”

“Uhh yeah,” Bucky replied, hoping to God he wasn’t blushing as much as he suspected he was after that little scene.

“I was just gonna say thank you, Bucky. Our seats look amazing.”

“Oh,” he said, dumbly.

“Yeah, oh.” He grinned. “So, why don’t you come here and let me thank you properly,” he suggested, and then pulled Bucky into a kiss.

As Bucky let his hands drift beneath the hem of Sam’s shirt, he couldn’t help but sigh contentedly against Sam’s lips. The somewhat weird start to the night aside, their date was turning out to be pretty damn perfect.

******

“So, what did you think?” Bucky asked, as soon as they were once again lounging in the limo after the game had ended. “Did it compare to your precious Cathedral?”

“I mean, it’s no House That Ruth Built,” Sam said, trying not to smile, “but it’ll do.”

“Oh.”

“Man, you know I’m just playing,” he said, knocking his shoulder against Bucky’s. “It was awesome, especially all the extras that came with our seats.” He shook his head, and said with a laugh, “I can definitely see why rich people are so happy all the time; it’s the perks.”

“You think that was nice, you ought to see some of the suites.” He whistled. “Now those are incredible. Maybe I can get us one sometime.”

Sam looked at him like he was crazy. “Bucky, man, the seats we had were fine; they were better than fine. They were amazing. For real, I don’t know how you managed to even get them, especially for a playoff game.”

“I mean,” Bucky said, sounding somewhat bashful, “it was a little harder than last time since our other tickets were regular season and all. So I had to pull a couple of strings.” _Pull a couple of strings, pay my hookup a ridiculous upcharge._ “But it was completely worth it.”

“Our other tickets?” Sam asked, looking at him in confusion. “What other tickets?”

When Bucky’s eyes closed briefly and his mouth turned down, Sam felt a frown pulling at his own lips. Bucky’s expression was one Sam was coming to know very well. Apparently his date had something to tell him, something he didn’t think Sam was going to like. 

Sam certainly didn’t want to spoil their evening though, so he sent him an encouraging smile. “You gonna make me ask again?”

He sighed, but sent Sam a smile in return. “No, sweetheart; it’s not a big deal or anything,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “A few weeks ago I’d actually gotten us tickets to a game. I was planning on surprising you with them that night I made you dinner, but umm…”

“But what?” Sam asked when he trailed off. 

“But I ran into Steve that afternoon at the bar and we kind of got into it.”

“About what?”

“About you,” Bucky said, as if it were obvious. 

And in his mind it was obvious. He would never tell Sam this because he didn’t want the man to feel bad or guilty, and he knew Sam was just the type to try to take the blame, but the only thing he and Steve ever had a serious problem about was Sam. 

“See, he was feeling like you were being distant and he wanted my advice on how to keep you, and I don’t know… I just snapped.” Off Sam’s look at that, Bucky couldn’t stop himself from grabbing his hand and lacing their fingers together. “You gotta understand, Sammy, by then I was so gone on you. I just didn’t wanna hear it; I didn’t want to hear some other guy, even if he was your actual boyfriend, talking about you, so I went off on him a little.”

“Anyway, I pissed him off pretty good and he left, but I wasn’t too worried about it until Tasha came over and told me that he had Clint follow you to your sister’s house one night. I was shocked about that, but what was really throwing me was that it was supposed to be a big secret,” he explained.

“Steve has always told me everything. So, the fact that he didn’t want me to know that he was having you followed made me think that he thought you were lying about spending time with me.”

“I always told him when I was hanging out with you,” Sam said, indignantly. “I never once tried to hide it.”

Sure, he was on a date with Bucky now, and if Steve knew about it, he’d probably think that all his suspicions were being confirmed. But Sam had tried to be upfront with Steve back then. And even though he had known since that fateful night at his apartment that Steve sometimes used to have him followed, it was still hard for him to wrap his head around.

“I know that,” Bucky assured him. “But I guess he didn’t. And when Tasha told me about it, I got nervous; Steve can be… a loose cannon,” he went on delicately. 

“So, long story short, I talked to Steve and apologized for snapping at him, and as sort of a peace offering I gave him the tickets I’d bought for us. I lied and told him that I had purchased them for him and I, but that I wanted him to take you instead. I encouraged him to show you a good time.” He grimaced and added, “I’m pretty sure he was gonna propose to you there, ‘cause the game was scheduled for the night that… everything blew up between us.”

“Jesus Christ,” Sam said, looking a little shook.

“I know, okay. I’m a real piece of shit,” Bucky said, letting go of Sam so he could rub his hand over his face.

“Not only did I not tell you Steve was having you followed the second I found out about it, but I actually actively encouraged him to keep pursuing you even though I knew your relationship was toxic as hell. I tried to play him _and_ kept stuff from you just so I could keep spending time with you in peace,” he said, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe his own actions. 

Poor Sam was suffering from his own case of disbelief. Not because he couldn’t believe what Bucky was saying, it was more like he couldn’t believe his own reaction to this newest bit of information. Because while Bucky was sitting next to him looking scared shitless, like he thought he’d just spoiled everything, Sam was feeling the most inappropriate swell of affection for the guy. 

Forget the fact that it was sort of (worryingly) intoxicating to know that Bucky had readily given up something special just so he could _maybe_ get to keep hanging out with Sam without Steve breathing down their necks. What was really making Sam’s heartbeat a little faster was that he’d asked Bucky a question and got the truth — not part of it, not what sounded good — but the God’s honest truth. Maybe the bar was on the floor, but it was nice to see Bucky live up to the promises he had made the other night.

Did he wish that Bucky had told him everything from jump? Of course. But he’d already given the guy a clean slate for all the past bullshit; there was no sense in getting angry about this now, better to focus on the positives. 

“So,” Bucky took a deep breath and chanced a look at Sam’s face, “how mad are you?”

“I’m not.”

“Wait — what?”

“Bucky,” he said, and reached out, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him closer. “I’m not mad,” he repeated, and then planted a short but searing kiss on the other man’s lips.

Bucky blinked at him in surprise when Sam pulled back, but never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he leaned right back in and gave him a longer, deeper kiss of his own. 

Sam was clearly a saint, and Bucky was definitely in heaven. 

******

Bucky had assumed they would hit up a bar or maybe go grab some food after the game, but the second Sam had broke off their kiss and breathlessly whispered “let’s go to your place” in his ear, Bucky had quickly (and happily) rearranged his expectations and instructed the driver to head to his condo.

They weren’t inside his door a good thirty seconds before he had Sam plastered against the wall, their hips grinding together while he kissed Sam as if his life depended on it.

When the evening began, Bucky had hoped it would end with a goodnight kiss, or maybe even a full on make-out session like last week’s get together if he was lucky, but from the way Sam was currently easing his hand up his shirt, he had a feeling he might actually get his dick wet.

“Should we take this to the bedroom?” Bucky asked, when he finally had to come up for air.

There was a brief pause, and for a moment Bucky was worried that he’d asked for too much too soon, but then Sam grinned up at him.

“Sounds good to me.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before Bucky grabbed his hand and started to pull him down the hallway.

But the second they rounded that first corner, Bucky skidded to a halt and immediately stepped in front of Sam.

“Bucky, what—” Sam started to speak, but the words died on his lips when he looked past his date and saw what had stopped him in his tracks.

There, right in the middle of Bucky’s living room, with a gun in his right hand and a solemn look on his face, stood Steve. 

“Oh, Sam.” He sighed and shook his head, and Sam’s already bad feeling increased tenfold. “I really wish you would’ve had Bucky drop you off after the game.” 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Feedback is always appreciated. 
> 
> Chapter Title: Ginuwine


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